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A  UTHOR : 


ZIELINSKI, 
FRANCEVI 


FADDEJ 


TITLE: 


OUR  DEBT  TO 
ANTIQUITY ... 


PLACE: 


LONDON 


DA  TE : 


1909 


COLUMBIA  UNIVERSITY  LIBRARIES 
PRESERVATION  DEPARTMENT 


Master  Negative  # 


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Zieliiiskl,  Tadeusz,  1859-1944. 

Our  debt  to  antiquity,  by  Professor  Zielinski  tr  with 
introduction  and  notes,  by  Professor  H.  A.  Strong  '  and 
Huph  Stewart  ...  London,  G.  Routledge  &  sons,  ltd.";' New 
1  ork,  E.  P.  Button  &  co.,  1909. 

iTl,  2-10  p.    IT'". 

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In  the  same  year  they  were  published  In  the  Journal  of  the  Mlnlstrv  fo'i 
popular  education  and  appeared  In  separate  book  form  "-mtrod 

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OUR  DEBT  TO  ANTIQUITY 


\) 


OUR  DEBT 
TO  ANTIQUITY 


BV 


PROFESSOR   ZIELINSKI 

or   ST.    PETBRSBURG   UHIVKRSITY 


^i 


TRANSLATED,  WITH  INTRODUCTION  AND  NOTES, 

BY 

PROFESSOR  H.  A.  STRONG,  LL.D. 


AND 


HUGH   STEWART,  B.A. 

LATE   SCHOLAR   OF   TRINITY  COLLEGE,   CAMBRIDGE 


f  *  i  V 


*        9         t 


LONDON 
GEORGE    ROUTLEDGE    &    SONS,  Ltd. 

NEW  YORK:    E.    P.    BUTTON  &   CO. 

1909 


•     •   •    « 


«    > 


INTRODUCTION 

THE  following  lectures  were  delivered  by 
Professor  Zielinski  of  St.  Petersburg  Uni- 
versity in  the  spring  of  1903  to  the  highest  classes 
of  the  secondary  schools  in  the  capital.  In  the 
same  year  they  were  published  in  the  Journal  of 
the  Ministry  for  Popular  Education  and  appeared 
in  separate  book  form.  Despite  a  somewhat  un- 
favourable reception  in  the  Press  the  work  created 
widespread  interest,  and  a  second  edition  was 
soon  called  for.  In  preparing  it  Professor  Zielin- 
ski retained  the  form  of  the  first.  "I  do  not 
want  to  undo  it  and  undo  therewith  the  memory 
of  hours  which  I  count  among  the  happiest  in  my 
life."  But  he  emphasises  the  fact  that  this 
second  edition,  which  the  translators  have  used, 
is  meant  for  the  world  at  large.  He  feels  strongly 
and  reasonably  that  "the  regeneration  of  the 
classical  school,  which  is  indispensable  in  the 
interests  of  Russian  culture,  will  come  about  only 
when  Society  itself  is  convinced  of  its  necessity." 
It  is  hoped  that  the  work  may  be  found  of  no 
less  interest  to  English  readers  than  it  has  proved 
to  students  on  the  Continent.  Its  interest  seems 
to  the  translators  to  consist  iiist  and  foremost  in 
the  reasons  advanced  for  the  maintenance  of  the 


VI 


Our  Debt  to  Antiquity 


Introductton 


Vll 


classics  as  the  groundwork  of  education.  These 
arguments  are  in  some  cases  different  from  those 
which  we  are  accustomed  to  hear  from  partisans 
of  the  classical  school  in  Western  Europe.  The 
whole  question  indeed  is  surveyed  from  a  fresh 
standpoint ;  the  lectures  form  a  stimulating  and 
suggestive  treatment  of  a  familiar  subject  on  new 
lines.  Certain  statements  and  theories  are  perhaps 
open  to  question,  but  the  work  throughout  is  dis- 
tinguished by  a  high  level  of  discussion,  unflagging 
spirits,  and  a  philosophic  breadth  of  view  which 
make  powerful  and  constant  claims  on  the 
reader's  interest  and  sympathy.  A  welcome  note 
of  enthusiasm  and  insight  pervades  the  whole 
subject,  and  the  clear-sighted  and  original  ideas 
that  are  strewn  throughout  the  pages  must  arrest 
the  attention  and  compel  thought.  They  are  for 
the  most  part  expressed  with  that  characteristi- 
cally Russian  naivete  and  use  of  vigorous  and 
illuminating  similes  which  give  the  style  a  flavour 
of  the  peculiar  charm  familiar  to  readers  of 
Russian  literature. 

It  will  in  addition  be  of  interest  to  English 
readers  to  note  the  importance  attached  to  the 
study  of  Latin  by  a  teacher  in  a  country  which 
looks  back  to  Byzantine  Greek  as  its  classical 
language.  This  judgment  is  in  remarkable  con- 
trast with  the  view  which  obtains  generally 
among  the  professor's  countrymen,  and  is  based 
on  the  small  part  played  by  Rome  in  Russian 
civilisation.  The  history  of  classical  study  in 
Russia  is  more  in   accordance  with  this  latter 


I 


view,  although  it  cannot  be  said  to  have  advanced 
the  cause  of  Greek.  The  record  is  one  of  constant 
vicissitudes,  but  not  at  any  time  of  prosperity. 
In  archaeology,  indeed,  a  great  deal  of  good  work 
has  been  done,  the  importance  of  which  has  not 
yet  been  grasped  by  Western  students,  but 
classical  scholarship  generally  has  been  but  a 
feeble  and  languishing  product.  At  the  present 
day,  beyond  a  few  notable  exceptions,  among 
whom  Professor  Zielinski  himself  is  a  prominent 
figure,  it  is  at  a  low  ebb  indeed,  if  that  term  be 
permissible  in  a  case  where  the  tides  were  never 
high.  The  small  group  of  leaders  might  take 
their  place  in  the  van  of  European  scholarship, 
but  the  unenthusiastic  rank  and  file  lag  far  be- 
hind. In  most  of  the  gymnasia  Greek  is  not 
taught  at  all,  and  the  standard  of  Latin  required 
for  the  "Attest at  Zrailosti,"  the  "certificate  of 
maturity,"  which  corresponds  in  a  sense  with  our 
"Leaving  Certificate"  (cf.  note  on  page  207),  is 
undoubtedly  low.  With  these  facts  borne  in 
mind  Professor  Zielinski' s  triumphant  vindication 
of  his  cause  gains  a  new  significance. 

Scholars  in  our  own  country  would  probably 
have  dwelt  on  some  other  considerations  in  favour 
of  classical  study  besides  those  mentioned  by  the 
Russian  lecturer.  One  of  these  might  well  have 
been  that  the  characters  and  the  social  life 
described  in  the  classics  are  simple  and  easy  of 
comprehension,  and  as  such  afford  useful  models 
to  the  students  of  a  mature  and  complicated 
civilisation.     But  it  is  to  be  hoped  that  those 


\ 


Vlll 


Our  Debt  to  Antiquity 


who  come   forward  to  champion  the   cause  of 
classical  studies  will  insist  more  and  more  that 
Latin  should  be  learnt  in  connection  with  French 
and,  if  possible,  the  other  Romance  languages. 
The  teacher  of  Latin  should  be  a  good  French 
scholar  and  should  possess  an  adequate  know- 
ledge of  French  in  its  several  stages.     Conversely 
the  French  teacher  should  be  a  good  Latinist.     If 
French  and  Latin  were  taught  as  thus  intimately 
connected,  the  pupil  would  develop  an  intuitive 
instinct  of  the  evolutionary  nature  of  language 
in  general,  and  would  acquire  from  a  knowledge 
of    the    different    features    in  French  a  similar 
instinct  for  the  processes  of  Comparative  Philology. 
For  it  should  be  noted  that  the  various  processes 
which  take  place  in  language    such    as    sound 
change,  change  of  meaning,  contamination,  and 
so  forth,  may  be  instanced  from  the  history  of 
Latin  and  French ;  and  it  is  surely  wiser  to  illus- 
trate one  known  language  by  another  than  to 
compare  a  known  language  with  an  unknown  one, 
such  as  Latin  with  Sanskrit  or  Slavonic. 

The  German  translation  of  Professor  Zielinski's 
lectures  is  by  Herr  E.  Schoeler.  Herr  Weicher, 
of  the  Dieterich'sche  Verlagsbuchhandlung,  Leip-' 
zig,  most  kindly  allowed  us  to  compare  the 
German  translation  with  our  own. 


■       9 

h 


lil 


ANALYTICAL  TABLE  OF  CONTENTS 


LECTURE  I 

1.  Introduction  p^^gg 

a.  The  threefold  aspect  of  the  subject  . .         i 

h.  The   difference   of   opinion   between 

scholars  and  the  world  generally. ...  1-3 

c.  Is  the  vox  populi  the  vox  Dei  ? 4-6 

d.  The  two  "  I's  "  of  society 7 

A.— THE   IMPORTANCE  OF  CLASSICAL 

STUDY  IN  SCHOOLS 8-1 12 

2.  Analogy  with  Bread   8~i  i 

3.  Facts  about  Classical  Education  ...     12-13 

4.  Two  Possible  Objections  : 

a.  Conclusions  that  are  valid  for  Wes- 
tern Europe  are  not  valid  for  Russia  .      14-15 

b.  The   modern  world   has  nothing  to 

learn  from  the  ancient 15-16 

5.  The  Purpose  of  Sociological  Selection  16 

6.  The     Professed    Aims     of    Classical 

Study   in   the   Past   and   at   the 
Present       17-21 

7.  The     Educational     Physiology     and 

Organic  Chemistry   22-23 

is 


A 


\ 


X  Our  Debt  to  Antiquity 

8.  Secondary  Schools  :  p^css 

a.  Technical  Schools 24-25 

h.  Three  proposed  programmes 25-27 

c.  Education  and  knowledge 28 

d.  The   true   function   of   a   secondary 
school    28-29 

9.  Restatement  of  the  Lecturer's  Aim  30 

LECTURE  II 

1.  School  Classical  Study Z^-l^ 

2.  The    Apperceptive  and    Associative 

Methods  OF  Learning  Languages        32-35 

3.  Greek    and    Latin    the    only    two 

Ancient     Languages     Suitable 

FOR  School  Study    35-36 

4.  Sensuous  and  Intellectual  Langu- 

ages :  THE  Contrast  between 
THE  Classical  Languages  and 
Russian    37-40 

5.  a.  The  Nature  of  Latin  Accidence 

(i)  Correspondence  of  Latin  ortho- 
graphy and  pronunciation 41-43 

(ii)  Latin  declensions  and  conjuga- 
tions           43-45 

(iii)  The    question    of    exceptions  ; 

contrast  with  Russian 45-48 

h.  Greek  Accidence 48-49 

6.  Language  is  a  Natural  Phenomenon 

Governed  by  Law 49 

7.  Conclusion  :      the     Importance     of 

Grammar    49-5 1 


Analytical  Table  of  Contents  xi 

LECTURE  III 

PAGES 

1.  Summary  of  Results  Attained 52-54 

2.  Statement  of  Lecturer's  Position  .         54-55 

3.  Semasiology  : 

a.  Its  value    56 

b.  Four  reasons  why  the  classical 
languages  are  superior  in  this  re- 
spect to  the  modern 57-59 

c.  Contrast  between  Russian  and 
Greek  in  regard  to  the  word  for 

"  conscience  "     60-61 

d.  The  vocabulary  and  the  life  of  the 

people    62-64 

e.  Historical  perspectives 65 

4.  Syntax: 

a.  Schopenhauer's  opinion 66-67 

b.  A  lesson  in  Greek  or  Latin  syntax 
is  a  lesson  in  the  modern  language 

as  well 67-68 

c.  Contrast  between  the  classical  lan- 
guages and  Russian 69-7 1 

5.  Style  : 

a.  Its  importance  in  education 72 

b.  The  classical  languages  a  means  for 
the  theoretical  mastery  of  language 

and  languages  in  general 72-73 

c.  And  a  training  school  for  the  prac- 
tical improvement  of  style 74 

d.  The  period  in  French,  German, 
Russian    75-79 

e.  Do   working   translations   tend   to 

mar  style  ?   80-81 

/.  The  development  of  style  in  classi- 
cal literature 82-83 


/, 


xii  Our  Debt  to  Antiquity 

LECTURE  IV 

Ancient  Literature. 

1.  Translations  :  p^Gg, 

a.  Their  value    84-85 

h.  What  a  translation  can  and  cannot 

reproduce    86 

c.  Translations  and  originals 87 

2.  The  Moral  Aspect  of  Education  : 

"  Moral."  "  non-moral."  "  immoral  " 
courses  of  study 88-89 

a.  Illustration  of  "  moral  "  character 

of  classical  instruction 90-92 

h.  Contrast  with  mathematics,  which 
is  "  non-moral  "    :. , . .  93 

c.  And  with  modern  languages,  which 

are  "  immoral  "  94-95 

3.  The  Development  of  Intellect  by 

Epexegetical  Interpretation  . .  96 

4.  The     Intellectual     Character     of 

Ancient  Literature  : 

a.  It  asserts  a  supremacy  of  reason 

over  will   97 

Contrast    with    modern    writers : 

Dostoyevski 98 

h.  The  manysidedness  of  ancient  cul- 
ture :   results  for  teacher  and  pupil       98-100 
Instances:    Oedipus  Rex  11 37  . .      loo-ioi 

Electra  483 101-103 

Odyssey  10.510:  contrast 

\vith  Pushkin 103-105 

5.  Nature  and  Classical  Poetry 106 

6.  The  different  Position  of  Latin  and 

Greek  107 


Analytical  Table  of  Contents  xiii 


7.  The  Question  of  Grammatical  Com- 

mentary   

8.  The  Historical  Spirit  ., 

9.  Optimism     Promoted    by    Classical 

Study   

10.  Contrast  between  Commentaries  on 

Classical  and  Modern  Writers 

11.  The  Feeling  for  Truth:    Import- 

ance  of  Classical   Reading   in 
THIS  Connection   

12.  Does    the    Classical    School    give 

the  Ability  to  Read  the  Orig- 
inals ?    

LECTURE  V 

1.  The    Moral    Benefit    of    Classical 

Study  

2.  Its  Practical  Utility 


PACKS 

107 

108 

109 

109- 

-IIO 

IIO- 

-III 

III-II2 


II3-II5 
II5-II6 


1x8 


119 


B.— THE     VALUE     OF     ANTIQUITY 

FOR  MODERN  CULTURE. 1 17-186 

3.  a.  The  diversity  of  opinion  on  this  point  1 17 

h    The  reasons  for  this 

c.  Antiquity  should  be  not  a  model 
but  a  seed ■• 

4.  Antiquity  as  the  Mother-Country 

of  European  Culture 120-123 

5.  Ancient   Religion  :     Christian    and 

Pagan   123-124 

The  Importance  of  a  Knowledge 
of  Greek  for  the  Proper 
Understanding  of  Christianity  124 


xiv  Our  Debt  to  Antiquity 

6.  Ancient  Mythology:    the  Survival 

DF  Ancient  Mythological  Types        packs 
IN  Modern  Literature 125-128 

7.  The   Origin   of   the   Various   Types 

of  Modern  Literature    128-132 

8.  Ancient  Historical  Writing  : 

a.  Its  Spirit :  "  Truth  is  the  eye 

of  history"    133-135 

b.  The  importance  of  this  principle  for 
modern  historians  .: 1 36-1 39 

LECTURE  VI 

1.  Ancient  Philosophical  Literature  : 

a.  Its  spirit  and  characteristics 140-143 

h.  The  thinker's  code  of  honour 144 

2.  Summary  of  the  Effect  of  Ancient 

Literature  Generally  on  Cul- 
ture THROUGHOUT  HlSTORY I45-I48 

3.  Ancient  Philosophy  : 

a.  Its  universalism 148-149 

b.  Ancient  ethics  : 

(i)  Pre-Socratic     and     instinctive 

°^orality 151-152 

(ii)  Socratic  morality 1 5 3-1 54 

(iii)  Christian  morality   155 

c.  The  importance  of  ancient  moral 

ideas  for  future  ethics 1 56-1 58 

4.  The  Sphere  of  Justice  : 

a.  Pre-scientific  jurisprudence 158-159 

6.  Roman  law  :   its  character  and  im- 
portance      160-162 


l\ 


^ 


< 


Analytical  Table  of  Contents  xv 

5.  Ancient  Political  Organisation  : 

a.  The  state  and  moral  progress  in         pages 

Greece    162-163 

h.  Individualism  and  citizenship  ....  164 

c.  The  historical  importance  of  ancient 

political  ideas 165-166 

6.  Conclusion  :    Antiquity  and  Optim- 

ism        167-168 

LECTURE  VII 

1.  Classicism  and  Antiquity 169 

2.  Ancient  Art  : 

a.  Architecture  :    the  Greek  column 

and  the  Roman  arch 170-172 

Architectural  honesty   172-174 

Architectural  dishonesty 174-176 

b.  Painting  and  Sculpture  :    the 

"  natural  "  school   177-180 

c.  The  idealism  of  Greek  art 180-182 

d.  The  "  artistic  industry  "  in  Greece  183 

3.  The   Debt   of   Modern   Culture   to 

Antiquity    1 84-1 85 

4.  Classical     Culture     in     the    Com- 

munity     1 86 

C— CLASSICAL      STUDY      AS      A 

SCIENCE 186-196 

5.  The  Diversity  of  Opinion  on  this 

Point    1 86-1 88 

6.  The  Value  of  Science 188-189 

7.  Classical  Study  in  the  Past  :    the 

Rough    Work    already    Done  ; 

Its  Nature  1 89-191 


XVI 


Our  Debt  to  Antiquity 


i 


\ 


8.  Consequences    of    this  :     Classical 

Study  in  the  Present 

9.  Universalism  of  this  Study 

10.  Classical  Study  in  the  Future   . . 


PACSS 


192-194 

195 

195-196 


LECTURE  VIII 
Conclusion  : 

I.  The  Hostility  shown  to  the  Classics     197-198 
a.  Its  causes : 

(i)  The  result  of  deception 199-200 

Instances   200-204 

(ii)  The  result  of  misunderstanding  204 

6.  The  charges  against  classical  educa- 
tion in  schools  : 

(i)  It  is  unnecessary 205-206 

(ii)  It  is  difficult :   the  ideal  school 

organisation     206-21 5 

(lii)  Its  reactionary  and  retrograde 

character    215-216 

2.  The    Sociological    Significance    of 

THE  School  21 7-2 i 8 

3.  The  Question   of  "the   Failures"     218-221 

4.  The  Influence  of  the  Classics  as 

AN  Instrument  of  Progress 221-222 

5.  The  Peculiar  Position  of  Russia  . .  222 

6.  A  Myth  concerning  Progress    223-226 

Appendix    227 

Index 233 


OUR   DEBT  TO  ANTIQUITY 


LECTURE  I 

THE  task  before  me  is  to  interpret  to  my 
hearers,  as  far  as  the  time  at  our  disposal 
and  my  powers  permit,  the  importance  of  the 
special  department  of  knowledge  of  which  I  am 
the  accredited  representative  at  the  St.  Petersburg 
University  :  a  department  which  I  may  briefly 
indicate  by  the  title  "  Antiquity."  Our  end  may 
be  gained  by  three  different  ways,  corresponding 
to  the  threefold  aspect  of  the  subject  itself. 
Antiquity  forms,  in  the  first  place,  the  subject- 
matter  of  that  science  which  is  commonly,  though 
in  some  respects  erroneously,  called  "  Classical 
Philology  " ;  in  the  second  place,  it  contributes 
an  element  to  the  intellectual  and  moral  culture 
of  modern  European  society  ;  in  the  third  place — 
and  here  its  significance  especially  touches  you, 
my  hearers — it  forms  one  of  the  subjects  taught 
in  the  "  Privileged  "  secondary  schools  of  Russia — 
the  so-called  Classical  Gymnasia. 

Each  of  these  points  of  view  reveals  to  us  a  new 
aspect  of  Antiquity  :  each  compels  the  trained 
scholar  to  range  himself  in  direct  opposition  to  the 
opinion  prevalent  to-day  among  the  educated  in 

B 


III 


2 


Our  Debt  to  Antiquity 


i 


III 


every  country,  and  particularly  in  Russia.  Men, 
indeed,  have  made  up  their  minds  that  what  is 
called  "  Classical  Philology  "  is  a  science  which, 
however  zealously  cultivated,  yet  affords  no 
longer  any  interesting  problems  for  our  solution. 
Our  expert,  however,  will  tell  you  that  never  has 
it  had  such  interest  for  us  as  to-day  :  that  the 
entire  work  of  previous  generations  was  merely 
preparatory — in  fact,  was  merely  the  foundation 
on  which  we  are  only  now  beginning  to  raise  the 
actual  structure  of  our  knowledge  ;  that  problems 
ever  new,  challenging  research  and  demanding 
solution,  meet  us  at  every  step  in  the  field  of  our 
progress. 

Again,  in  regard  to  the  element  contributed  by 
Antiquity  to  modern  culture,  a  belief  rules  abroad 
that  Antiquity  plays  a  meaningless  part  in  the 
world  of  to-day  ;  that  it  has  no  significance  for 
modern  culture  ;  and  that  it  has  long  since  been 
superseded  ,  by  the  achievements  of  modern 
thought.  But  our  expert,  again,  will  assure  us 
that  our  modern  culture,  both  intellectual  and 
moral,  has  never  been  so  closely  bound  up  with 
Antiquity  as  to-day,  and  has  never  stood  in  such 
pressing  need  of  its  contributions.  He  will  tell  us, 
further,  that  we  have  never  been  so  well  equipped 
for  understanding  and  assimilating  it  as  to-day. 
Finally,  in  regard  to  Antiquity  as  an  element  of 
education,  people  are  disposed  to  deem  it  merely 
a  singular  survival,  which  has  maintained  its  foot- 
ing in  our  modern  school  curriculum  in  some  un- 
intelligible way  and  for  some  unintelligible  reason, 


Our  Debt  to  Antiquity  3 

but  which  is  destined  to  make  a  speedy  and  final 
disappearance.  But  the  man  who  understands 
the  true  position  of  affairs  will  rejoin  that  Anti- 
quity, from  its  very  nature  and  essence,  owing  to 
both  historical  and  psychological  causes,  is  and 
must  be  considered  an  organic  element  of  educa- 
tion in  European  schools,  and  that  if  it  be  destined 
to  disappear  entirely  its  end  will  coincide  with 
the  end  of  modern  European  culture. 

We  have,  then,  these  three  antitheses  ;  and  you 
will  agree  that  sharper  cannot  easily  be  formu- 
lated. I  am  afraid  that  the  very  statement  of 
these  antitheses  may  trouble  you  and  dispose  you 
to  look  with  suspicion  on  what  I  have  to  say. 
And  as  such  an  d  priori  prejudice  may  conceivably 
weaken  the  effect  of  the  lecturer's  words  on  the 
minds  of  his  audience,  pray  allow  me  to  dispel  it, 
as  far  as  prejudice  can  be  dispelled  by  the  operation 
of  reason.  Indeed,  I  can  imagine  your  objection 
to  be  stated  thus  broadly  :  "  Does  not  the  mere 
composition  of  the  two  parties  to  the  dispute 
show  who  is  right  and  who  is  wrong  ?  Is  it  pos- 
sible that  the  vast  majority  of  men  should  be 
wrong,  and  that  the  expert  of  whom  you  speak, 
and  with  whom  you  probably  identify  yourself, 
Professor,  should  be  right  ? 

''Let  us  leave  *  Classical  Philology '  out  of  ac- 
count for  the  moment  :  it  has  no  interest  for  the 
world  at  large,  so  the  world  at  large  has  the  right 
to  ignore  it ;  but  Antiquity  as  an  element  in 
culture,  Antiquity  as  a  vital  factor  in  education — 
can  we  really  admit  that  men  have  gone  so  far 


1 


4  Our  Debt  to  Antiquity 

astray  in  settling  questions  which  touch  them  so 
nearly  ?  *  Vox  populi,  vox  Dei '  is  no  mere  idle 
saying."  Here  I  could  make  a  reservation,  and  a 
fairly  important  one,  with  respect  to  this  majority 
of  which  we  hear  so  much  ;  but  let  that  pass. 
Let  it  be  even  as  you  say.  Still,  I  cannot  admit 
the  applicability  of  the  proverb  about  the  vox 
populi  to  this  majority,  whether  it  be  found  to 
exist  in  reality  or  in  imagination  only  :  the  history 
of  all  ages  protests  loudly  against  such  an  applica- 
tion. Only  reflect  how  Rome  drove  the  early 
Christians  into  the  arena  ;  think  how  Spain  raged 
against  the  heretics,  or  Germany  against  the 
witches  ;  think  of  the  unanimous  support  long 
afforded  to  institutions  like  negro  slavery  in 
America,  or  serfdom  in  Russia,  and  you  will  agree 
that  the  "  vox  populi  "  is  in  truth  only  too  often 
the  vox  Diaboli,  and  not  the  vox  Dei.  To-day  we 
not  only  condemn  such  manifestations  of  the 
popular  will :  we  explain  them  dispassionately  ; 
that  is  no  bad  thing.  We  show  the  reasons  which 
in  all  the  cases  I  have  indicated  have  forced  men 
to  conclusions  so  adverse  to  their  true  interests. 
And  in  the  present  case  also  we  can  adopt  the 
same  attitude  ;  in  the  present  case  also  we  can — 
and  an  attempt  to  do  so  will,  if  time  permit,  form 
part  of  my  last  lecture — analyse  the  cause  of  the 
adverse  position  taken  up  by  modern  critics 
against  Antiquity.  We  can  distinguish  the  part 
played  therein  by  well-intentioned  and  involuntary 
delusion  from  that  which  we  must  ascribe  to  in- 
tentional deception.    For  the  moment  my  purpose 


Our  Debt  to  Antiquity 


5 


is  different :  I  am  anxious  only  to  shatter  your 
simple  faith — if  you  have  a  faith — in  the  infalli- 
bility of  public  opinion,  and  to  protest  against 
the  misapplication  of  the  proverb  "  Vox  populi, 
vox  Dei." 

The  proper  meaning  of  this  saying  I  will  pro- 
ceed to  explain  to  you.  Where  must  we  look  to 
hear  the  voice  of  God  ?  Not  in  the  deafening 
clamour  which  is  so  often  the  expression  of  mere 
passionate  excitement,  but  in  the  calm,  dispas- 
sionate command  of  that  mysterious  will  which 
points  out  to  Humanity  the  path  of  development 
in  Civilisation.  In  remote  ages,  before  mankind 
had  any  inkling  of  the  physiology  of  digestion  or 
of  Organic  Chemistry,  that  voice  warned  mankind 
that  if  it  would  attain  the  highest  possible  degree 
of  perfection,  it  should  select  as  its  main  article 
of  diet — Bread.  The  Greeks,  who  could  feel  won- 
der for  what  really  merited  that  emotion,  recog- 
nised rightly  enough  the  divine  nature  of  this 
voice ;  they  believed  it  to  be  the  voice  of  their 
goddess  Demeter.  The  Biology  of  the  present  day, 
which  does  not  recognise  Metaphysics,  or  which, 
to  speak  more  correctly,  has  introduced,  instead 
of  the  honoured  Theological  Metaphysics  of  former 
times,  its  own  special  scheme  of  Biological  Meta- 
physics, sees  in  that  voice  the  effect  of  the  Law  of 
Natural  Selection  which  it  itself  discovered,  a  law 
entirely  analogous  to  that  which  has  assigned  its 
own  proper  diet  to  every  living  animal.  Yes, 
gentlemen,  this  Law  of  Natural  Selection  which, 
in  cases  where  Human  Society  is  its  subject,  bears 


6  Our  Debt  to  Antiquity 

the  title  of  "Sociological  Selection" — that  is  the 
real  vox  populi  and  vox  Dei. 

Let  us  now  ask,  in  what  relation  does  this  Law 
stand  to  our  present  question  ?  the  question  as  to 
the  part  played  by  Antiquity  in  the  education  im- 
parted to  the  youth  of  our  day,  or,  more  briefly, 
to  classical  education.  This,  then,  is  the  relation  : 
now,  nearly  fifteen  hundred  years  after  the  fall 
of  Rome,  and  more  than  two  thousand  years  after 
the  fall  of  Greece,  we  find  ourselves  disputing  as 
to  whether  the  languages  spoken  by  the  two 
classical  nations  of  Antiquity  shall,  or  shall  not, 
occupy  the  central  place  in  the  teaching  of  our 
schools.  You  must  needs  concede  to  me,  gentle- 
men, that  the  unanimous  testimony  of  centuries 
is  a  far  more  impressive  fact  than  the  ephemeral 
verdict  of  modern  society,  even  were  its  unanimity 
less  fictitious  than  in  fact  it  is.  Think  of  the  pic- 
ture which  the  Neva  presents  when  the  fatal 
south-west  wind  is  blowing  !  The  set  of  its  waves 
is  plainly  to  the  east.  The  river  seems  running  up- 
stream into  the  lake  of  Ladoga.  And  yet  you 
know  that  every  drop  of  that  lake,  thanks  to  an 
invisible  but  very  real  fall  in  the  earth's  surface, 
is  making  its  way  into  the  Gulf  of  Finland  ;  and 
that  the  only  result  of  this  upstream  current  pro- 
duced by  the  wind  is  a  temporary  overflow  of  the 
Galeerenhafen.  The  same  phenomenon  is  to  be 
witnessed  in  a  community  and  in  public  opinion. 
In  them,  as  in  our  Neva,  there  are  not  one,  but 
two  currents.  There  is  one  which  is  for  show — 
noisy,  tumultuous,  and  capricious,  and  followed 


Our  Debt  to  Antiquity  J 

by  inundations  and  misfortunes  of  every  kind ; 
the  other,  whose  very  existence  is  hardly  suspected 
by  the  former,  is  quiet,  soundless,  and  irresistible. 
Two  currents,   or,   if  you  like,   two  souls,   two 
"  I's."     You  may  adopt  for  society  as  a  whole 
the  sharp  division  which  Fr.  Nietzsche  has  wittily 
proposed  for  the  individual  members  which  com- 
pose it.    He  contrasts  the  "  little  I,"  which  is  self- 
conscious   and   carries,   relatively  speaking,   but 
small  weight,  with  the  "  great  I,"  which,  though 
sub-conscious,    still    prescribes    with    sovereign 
power  the  course  of  public  progress.     Well,  this 
unfavourable  view  entertained  by  the  contem- 
porary world  as  to  a  training  in  the  classics,  a  view 
which   you   may   be   inclined  to   oppose   to   my 
apparently  isolated  opinion,  is  the  product,  not  of 
the  modem  world  in  its  entirety,  but  merely  of  its 
little  I.    Of  course,  this  "  little  I  "  can,  and  actu- 
ally does,  inflict  on  me  as  an  individual  a  certain 
amount  of  annoyance  ;   but  it  has  no  weight  with 
me  as  a  thinking  man  and  an  historian.   As  such  I 
am  in  duty  bound  to  attend  not  to  its  voice,  but 
to  the  voice  of  the  mysterious  "  great  I  "  which 
directs  its  destiny.    And  there  I  hear  something 
quite  different ;    the  "  little  I  "  of  the  modern 
world  repeats  in  all  the  notes  of  the  scale  :  "'town 
with  classical  training  !  "    The  "  greater  I,"  how- 
ever, says  to  us  :   "  Cherish  it  as  the  apple  of  your 
eye  !  "    Or,  to  speak  more  correctly,  it  does  not 
actually  say  this  to  us  ;    it  has  itself  cherished 
classical   education   for   some   fifteen   or   twenty 
centuries,  disregarding  the  repeated  protests  of  its 


8 


Our  Debt  to  Antiquity 


own  "  little  I  "  ;  and  you  may  be  sure  that  it  will 
cherish  it  in  the  future  as  in  the  past. 

However,  we  have  arrived  at  this  result  in 
favour  of  Antiquity  only  incidentally.  In  our 
next  remarks  we  must  seek  to  establish  our 
claims  with  more  detailed  arguments.  Do  not 
attach,  for  the  meantime,  any  importance  to  our 
present  result,  and  merely  bear  in  mind  what  I 
have  said  about  the  two  currents  of  public  opinion 
and  their  relative  value.  And  now  let  us  approach 
the  subject. 

At  the  beginning  of  my  lecture  I  insisted  on  the 
threefold  significance  of  Antiquity  for  us  :  purely 
scientific,  cultural,  and  educational.  We  will, 
however,  adopt  another  order  in  our  course  ;  we 
will  begin  with  what  concerns  you  all,  and  con- 
clude with  what  directly  affects,  or  rather  will 
affect,  but  a  few  among  you. 

And  so,  wherein  lies  the  educational  importance 
of  a  study  of  Antiquity  ? 

Assuming,  first  of  all,  that  my  answer  to  this 
question  must  be  a  confession  of  ignorance,  or 
that  it  prove  in  any  other  way  unsatisfactory, 
what  would  follow  }  When  I  explained  to  you 
just  now  the  purport  of  the  Law  of  Sociological 
Selection,  I  referred  you,  as  an  illustration  of  my 
meaning,  to  one  remarkable  result  of  such  selec- 
tion, whereby  bread  has  come  to  be  the  principal 
article  of  diet  of  civilised  man.  Permit  me  now 
to  use  this  illustration  for  a  picture  or  allegory, 
which,  indeed,  has  served  me  once  before  in  a 
similar  case.     Suppose  that  in  the  times  when 


L 


Our  Debt  to  Antiquity  9 

men  were  inclined  to  regard  the  human  organism 
as  a  mechanism,  in  the  days  of  Helv6tius*  and 
La  Mettrie,t  a  commission  had  been  appointed  to 
reform  the  diet  of  mankind.  The  speeches  of  the 
opponents  of  the  traditional  methods  of  diet 
would  have  first  and  foremost  drawn  a  gloomy 
picture  of  the  physical  condition  of  mankind  at 
that  period.  Man  lives  some  sixty  or  seventy 
years  at  most,  though  Nature  intended  him  to  live 
two  hundred  years — this  was  precisely  the  opinion, 
later  on,  of  HufelandJ — and  pray  what  sort  of  a 
life  has  he  during  the  brief  space  of  his  existence  ? 
He  is  feeble  and  clumsy  ;  he  ages  rapidly ;  and 
think  of  all  the  failures  of  physical  life !  etc. 

Whence  all  this  misery  ?  Simply  because  his 
diet  is  irrational.  Diet  ought  to  renew  the  human 
body  ;  but  our  diet  consists  mainly  of  materials 
which  the  human  body  does  not  require  and, 
indeed,  rids  itself  of  anew,  as  entirely  useless. 
Our  bodies  need  flesh,  blood,  muscles,  marrow, 
etc.  In  spite  of  this  demand,  we  supply  them 
almost  entirely  with  a  vegetarian  diet,  of  which 
bread  forms  the  main  factor.  The  mischief 
caused  by  bread  is  that  it  stands  completely  in 
the  way  of  other  articles  of  diet  which  are  really 
useful ;   to  prove  its  worthlessness  you  need  only 

*  Claude  Adricn  Helvetius  (171 5-71),  author  of  "  De 
I'Esprit  et  de  rHomme." 

t  Julien  Offray  de  la  Mettrie  (1709-51),  author  of 
"Histoire  Naturelle  de  I'Ame":  "Homme  Machine": 
"  Homme  Plante  "  :  "  Discours  sur  le  Bonheur  "  :  "  L'Art 
de  Jouir,"  etc. 

X  C.  W.  Hufeland  (1762-1836),  author  of  "  Makro- 
biotik.  " 


I 


lO 


Our  Debt  to  Antiquity 


consider  the  human  body.  Are  our  arms,  legs, 
hands,  and  lungs  composed  of  dough  ?  Certainly 
not.  Of  what,  then  ?  Of  blood,  flesh,  muscle, 
bones,  and  so  on.  Well,  then,  pray  give  us  a 
genuinely  satisfying  diet,  answering  to  the  com- 
position of  our  bodies  ;  give  us  a  uniform  diet  to 
nourish  the  body  generally,  containing  in  one 
harmonious,  evenly-proportioned  compound  every 
element  needed  by  us  for  the  renovation  of  our 
physical  nature— flesh,  blood,  bones,  muscles,  and 
so  on.  Then,  and  not  till  then,  will  the  failures 
of  physical  life  disappear ;  then  a  man  will  live 
a  couple  of  centuries,  and  his  youth  will  endure 
longer  than  his  Hfe  to-day,  and  so  on.  Now, 
what  might  a  supporter  of  the  traditional  diet 
have  urged  by  way  of  rejoinder  ?  What  might 
have  been  his  reply  when  challenged  to  prove  the 
value  of  bread  as  nourishment  ? 

At  the  present  day,  of  course,  an  answer  sug- 
gests itself  as  possible  which  explains  quite 
satisfactorily  all  the  difficulties  ;  on  the  one  hand, 
Physiology  has  thrown  a  light  on  the  process  of 
digestion  in  all  its  details ;  on  the  other,  Organic 
Chemistry  has  analysed  our  diet  to  its  component 
parts.  Chemistry  warrants  us  in  asserting  that 
bread  contains  all,  or  nearly  all,  the  constituents 
of  food  necessary  for  the  human  body ;  Physi- 
ology helps  us  to  trace  the  way  by  which  our 
organism  assimilates  these  materials.  But  we 
were  supposing  ourselves  in  a  period  when  the 
process  of  digestion  was  but  very  imperfectly 
understood,  while  Organic  Chemistry  was  quite 


Our  Debt  to  Antiquity 


II 


unknown  ;   and  so,  I  repeat,  what  could  the  sup- 
porters of  the  traditional  methods  of  diet  reply 
to  the  champions  of  empirical  dietetics  of  those 
days  ?     I  fancy  their  reply  might  have  been  as 
follows  :    "  You  ask  in  what  the  dietetic  value  of 
bread,   and,   generally  speaking,  of  a  vegetable 
diet,   consists.     That    I    cannot  tell   you.     But 
the  fact  remains  that  the  nations  which  have 
adopted  our  food  system  are  therewith  the  bearers 
of  civilisation,  while  those  which  diet  themselves 
according   to   your   theories   are  only   the   very 
rudest  of  barbarians.     It  is  also  true  that  the 
civilised  nations  multiply  and  spread,  while  the 
savages  who  feed  on  a  meat  diet  are  decreasing 
in  number  and  are  being  pushed  ever  further  into 
the  background.    Further,  it  is  a  fact  that  civil- 
ised man,  when  he  is  by  the  force  of  circumstances 
constrained  to  deny  himself  the  use  of  bread  and 
fruit,  and  to  adopt  exclusively  a  meat  diet,  be- 
comes enfeebled  and  dies  out.     Finally,  it  is  a 
fact  that  you  yourselves,  while  you  have  correctly 
pointed  out  the  shortcomings  of  our  physical  life, 
have  still  failed  to  prove  that  those  shortcomings 
are  the  natural  result  of  our  system  of  diet ;  nor 
have  you  deigned  to  bestow  any  notice  on  the 
circumstance  that  those  who  follow  your  system 
are  neither  longer  lived,  nor  stronger,  nor  hand- 
somer, nor  healthier  than  we ;  which  seems  a  mere 
mockery  of  the  empirical  method." 

Such,  I  fancy,  would  have  been  the  answer  of  a 
supporter  of  the  traditional  dietetic  system,  and 
his  inference  would  have  been  unassailable.    Now 


12 


Our  Debt  to  Antiquity 


\ 


I  pass  on  to  our  present  question.     You  ask  me 
to  show  you  wherein  hes  the  educational  value  of 
Antiquity.     I  preface  my  answer  by  a  question, 
namely  :    *'  Has  Psychology  clearly  defined  and 
explained  the  process  of  intellectual  digestion  in 
all  its  details  ?     Does  there  exist  a  system  of 
Organic  Chemistry  applicable  to  intellectual  diet 
and  capable  of  providing  a  quahtative  and  quan- 
titative analysis  of  this  diet  ?  "    Should  you  then 
admit  that  the  sciences  which  I  have  in  view  are 
sciences  of  the  future,  known  to  us  at  present  only 
in  their  beginnings,  you  authorise  me  thereby  to 
make  this  rejoinder  :    "  What  is  the  educational 
value   of   the  study  of  Antiquity  ?      That  I  do 
not,   indeed,   know ;    but  it   is  a  fact  that  the 
system  of  classical  education  dates  from  time  out 
of  mind  ;   that  it  has  at  the  present  day  spread 
to  all  the  nations  who  enjoy  the  benefit  of  so- 
called   European   civilisation,    and   who,    indeed, 
could  not  be  called  civilised  till  they  adopted  this 
system.     It  is,  further,  true  that  if  we  were  to 
follow   the   methods   of   the   meteorologists   and 
express    the    vicissitudes    which    the    system    of 
classical  education  has  experienced  in  the  different 
countries  where  it  has  been  adopted  throughout 
all  the  period  of  their  existence  by  the  figure  of 
a  curve,  this  curve  would  be  found  to  express  at 
the  same  time  the  variations  in  the  intellectual 
culture  of  these  same  nations.     It   would  thus 
demonstrate  the  close  dependence  of  the  general 
culture  of  any  given  country  on  the  degree  of 
importance     attached    to     classical     education. 


Our  Debt  to  Antiquity 


13 


Thirdly,  it  is  a  fact  that  in  the  present  day  also 
the  intellectual  influence  of  any  given  nation 
asserts  itself  in  proportion  as  classical  education 
prevails  in  its  schools  ;  whereas  nations  who  dis- 
card this  system — the  Spaniards,  for  instance — 
play  no  great  part  in  the  world  of  ideas,  in  spite 
of  their  large  population  and  glorious  past.  It  is 
also  true  that  in  Russia  the  blow  inflicted  on 
classical  education  by  the  reform  of  the  Gymnasia 
in  the  year  1890  has  entailed  a  general  depression 
of  the  level  of  education  on  the  young  men  who 
leave  our  Gymnasia,  as  is  admitted  even  by  our 
opponents.  And,  lastly,  it  is  true  that  those  who 
depict  the  shortcomings  of  our  Gymnasia  in  such 
sombre  colours  have  failed  to  show  that  these 
shortcomings  are  the  result  of  classical  education  ; 
they  obstinately  refuse  to  consider  the  fact  that 
the  same  shortcomings  are  manifest  in  the  pupils 
of  the  secondary  schools  in  which  classical  educa- 
tion plays  no  part.'* 

The  inference  is  unassailable.  In  the  interests 
of  the  mental  culture  of  the  Russian  people  we 
are  bound  to  aim  at  the  highest  possible  level  of 
classical  training  in  our  Gymnasia,  regardless  as 
to  whether  we  succeed  or  not  in  giving  a  satis- 
factory answer  to  the  question  respecting  the 
educational  value  of  a  study  of  Antiquity. 

And  now,  before  proceeding  further,  let  us  look 
back  a  little.  A  consideration  of  the  history  of 
culture  led  us  to  the  conclusion  that  the  study  of 
the  Classics  offers  in  itself  the  standard  of  intel- 
lectual diet  of  the  rising  generation.     I  asserted 


14 


Our  Debt  to  Antiquity 


that  this  conclusion  was  unassailable ;  and,  in 
truth,  every  one  who  is  accustomed  to  weigh  his 
words  and  subordinate  his  feelings  to  his  reason 
in  matters  of  Science — and  it  is  with  such  that  we 
have  now  to  deal — is  bound  to  agree  with  me. 
But,  unfortunately,  such  persons  are  rare.  Ordi- 
nary people  subordinate  their  reason  to  their 
feelings  ;  when  any  proposition  which  they  dis- 
like is  proved  to  them  to  be  true,  they  try  to  find 
in  what  you  say  some  handle  for  contradiction  ; 
and  if  they  succeed  in  hitting  on  any  rejoinder 
which  has  but  an  external  resemblance  to  a 
logical  argument,  they  then  allege,  and  often  them- 
selves actually  believe,  that  they  have  refuted 
you.  Of  course,  it  is  quite  impossible  to  foresee 
refutations  of  this  nature.  One  way,  and  one 
alone,  leads  to  truth  ;  whereas  the  paths  to  error 
are  manifold.  But  as  I  am  acquainted  with  much 
of  what  has  been  written  on  the  question  of  the 
secondary  schools,  I  can  imagine  that  my  adver- 
saries will  find  two  "  handles  "  in  my  statements. 
This  is  the  first  one.  I  have  just  said,  "in  the 
interests  of  the  mental  culture  of  the  Russian 
people."  I  took  it  for  granted  that  any  conclu- 
sions which  might  be  drawn  from  the  fluctuations 
of  culture  in  Europe  generally  must  be  equally 
applicable  to  Russia.  Is  this  assumption  correct  ? 
In  the  ranks  of  my  opponents  there  are  not  a  few 
who  will  refuse  to  recognise  this  connection.  "  No," 
say  they,  "  the  claims  of  a  classical  education  are 
not  supported  by  the  history  of  Russia."  On  this 
plea  they  discard  classical  education,  and  then 


Our  Debt  to  Antiquity 


15 


proceed  to  launch  projects  of  a  special  school 
curriculum  of  their  own,  forgetting,  however,  to 
enquire  whether  its  claims  are  supported  by  the 
history  of  Russia  or  not.  Matters,  in  truth,  stand 
thus.  However  scanty  the  support  given  to  the 
claims  of  a  classical  education  by  the  facts  of 
Russian  history,  any  other  type  of  education, 
existing  or  proposed,  finds  in  them  absolutely  no 
support.  But  for  us  this  is  not  by  any  means  the 
principal  consideration.  The  main  point  is  this  : 
Russia  for  a  long  time  possessed  no  system  of 
classical  education  ;  the  result  was  that  during 
all  that  period  it  was  not  an  educated  nation  ; 
nor  did  it  become  so  till  the  introduction  of  classics 
as  an  educational  medium.  That  is  a  fact,  and, 
moreover,  one  which  fully  confirms  my  conclusions. 
The  second  objection  runs  parallel  to  the  first 
and  stands  in  the  same  relation  to  it  as  time  to 
space.  Our  opponents  in  this  camp  endeavour  to 
assume  for  modern  times  just  such  another  ex- 
ceptional position  as  their  allies  assumed  for 
Russia.  "  In  old  times,"  say  they,  ''  the  study  of 
Antiquity  really  formed  an  important  branch  of 
learning,  for  it  had  lessons  to  teach  ;  but  at  the 
present  day  we  have  travelled  far  beyond  it,  and 
we  have  nothing  more  to  learn  from  it."  These 
opponents  are  very  easily  refuted ;  we  have 
merely  to  confront  them  with  the  question : 
"  When  do  they  believe  that  we  outstripped 
Antiquity  ?  "  That  question  they  cannot  answer. 
The  matter  really  stands  thus.  The  question  of 
classical  education,  as  we  have  seen,  is  subject  to 


i6 


Our  Debt  to  Antiquity 


Our  Debt  to  Antiquity 


17 


the  law  of  Sociological  Selection.  The  operation  of 
this  law  is  detennined  by  what  is  known  as 
the  "  Heterogeneity  of  purposes  "  ;  that  is  to  say, 
the  non-correspondence  of  the  real  and  uncon- 
scious purpose  with  the  apparent  and  conscious 
purpose.  Thus  the  apparent  purpose  of  which 
the  bee  is  conscious  when  it  is  enticed  into  the 
recesses  of  a  flower  is  that  the  creature  may  enjoy 
the  sweet  juice ;  the  real  purpose,  on  the  other 
hand,  of  which  the  bee  is  unconscious,  is  that  the 
stamina  of  the  flower  should  be  pulled  about  and 
thereby  produce  its  fructification. 

Precisely  the  same  thing  happens  in  this  case 
also.  The  real  purpose  of  Sociological  Selection 
— it  will  be  understood,  of  course,  that  I  employ 
the  word  "  purpose  '*  here  in  the  relative  sense 
in  which  it  is  generally  used  in  modem  Biology — 
in  its  maintenance  of  classical  education  has  been 
at  all  times  one  and  the  same — namely,  the  intel- 
lectual and  moral  improvement  of  humanity.  But 
the  apparent  purposes  of  which  the  world  was 
conscious  were  different.  They  varied  at  different 
times ;  and  this  leads  us  to  make  two  interesting 
observations.  In  the  first  place,  scarcely  has  one 
of  these  apparent  purposes  served  its  time,  so  to 
say,  when  another  steps  forward  to  take  its  place. 
Secondly,  those  nations  which  mistook  the  osten- 
sible apparent  purpose  for  the  real  one  and  who 
endeavoured  to  achieve  it,  not  by  the  path  which 
the  law  of  selection  indicated  to  them,  but  by  a 
shorter  and  more  convenient  path,  have  had  a 
hard   judgment   pronounced   on   them    for   their 


I 


would-be  omniscience  by  the  tribunal  of  history. 
This  is  precisely  what  we  see  in  biology  and  bio- 
logical laws. 

Originally,  in  the  early  Middle  Ages,  the  ap- 
parent purpose  of  classical  education  was  the 
understanding  of  Holy  Scripture  and  of  the 
Liturgy,  the  works  of  the  Church  Fathers,  the 
lives  of  the  saints,  and  so  on.  Of  course,  there 
was  another  method,  more  simple  and  convenient 
for  attaining  this  end,  namely,  the  translation  of 
all  these  writings  into  the  mother  tongue.  This 
method  was  adopted  by  the  nations  of  the  Chris- 
tian East,  and  the  consequence  was  that  the 
advance  of  culture  left  those  nations  hopelessly 
behind.  At  a  later  period,  in  the  second  half  of 
the  Middle  Ages,  this  purpose  retired  to  the  back- 
ground in  favour  of  another — a  knowledge  of 
ancient  science,  as  expounded,  of  course,  in  the 
classical  languages.  Here,  also,  another  shorter 
and  more  convenient  road  was  at  the  service  of 
those  who  wished  it — namely,  the  translation  of 
the  scientific  works  of  the  Ancients  into  the 
mother  tongue.  This  was  the  course  adopted  by 
the  Arabs,  and  it  brought  Mahommedan  civilisa- 
tion, after  a  brief  period  of  prosperity,  to  a  speedy 
and  irretrievable  ruin ;  as,  indeed,  was  quite 
natural,  since  the  Arabs  transplanted  on  to  their 
own  ground  merely  the  flowers  of  Antiquity 
severed  from  their  roots,  the  ancient  languages. 

But  this  plan,  too,  was  discarded  at  the  end  of 
the  Middle  Ages  ;  modern  Europe  had  no  sooner 
assimilated  the  science  of  the  ancients  than  it 


i8 


Our  Debt  to  Antiquity 


passed  beyond  it.  .  .  .To  the  question,  then, 
propounded  above — namely.  When  did  we  out- 
strip Antiquity  in  the  sphere  of  science  ?  our  reply 
must  be  :  To  some  extent  as  early  as  the  Middle 
Ages.  That  period  discovered  Sciences  that  were 
unknown  or  almost  unknown  to  the  ancients,  as, 
for  example,  Algebra,  Trigonometry,  Chemistry, 
and  so  on,  and  raised  the  Sciences  already  known 
to  a  higher  degree.  It  now  seemed  that  Antiquity 
might  really  be  dispensed  with,  and  classical  cul- 
ture did  indeed  begin  to  decline  in  the  fourteenth 
century.  But  precisely  in  this  century  this  same 
culture  bloomed  afresh,  rapidly  and  brilhantly  ; 
the  Renaissance  has  begun.  Ancient  art,  not 
merely  figurative,  such  as  architecture,  sculpture, 
painting,  but  oratorical  also,  was  discovered  anew. 
Men  began  to  study  the  Latin  language  for  the 
sake  of  its  beauties  in  respect  to  form,  and  to  re- 
produce them  both  in  prose  and  verse.  This  is 
what  is  known  as  the  Old  Humanistic  movement. 
The  Latin  language  became  once  again  the  edu- 
cator, so  to  say,  of  the  languages  of  modern  Europe. 
The  result  of  this  influence  of  Latin  is  seen  in  the 
elasticity  and  strength,  in  the  artistic  technique, 
of  modern  prose  and  poetry.  The  result,  then, 
was  attained,  and  it  seemed  that  Antiquity  might 
now  be  relegated  to  archaeological  shelves.  But 
no  !  Scarcely  had  this  purpose  begun  to  recede 
into  the  background  when  a  fresh  plan,  the  fourth 
of  these  transitory  purposes,  appeared  to  take  its 
place.  The  intellectual  value  of  ancient  literature 
was  discovered.  Philosophy  being  its  crown  and 


Our  Debt  to  Antiquity 


19 


consummation.  Before  that  time  men  had  learnt 
Latin  to  be  able  to  speak  well  and  write  well ; 
now  they  learnt  it  to  be  able  to  think  well  and 
judge  well,  pour  bien  raisonner. 

Such  was  the  mot  d'ordre  of  the  so-called 
"  enlightened  views  "  which  started  in  England 
during  the  seventeenth  century  and  which  con- 
tinued in  France  during  the  eighteenth  century 
and  were  reflected  in  the  culture  of  the  rest  of  the 
Europe  of  that  time  :  the  time  of  Newton,  Vol- 
taire, Frederick  the  Great,  and  Catherine.  But 
already,  in  the  eighteenth  century,  this  one-sided 
intellectualism  called  forth  a  reaction  which  began 
in  England  and  in  France  (as  instanced  by  Rous- 
seau), but  attained  special  force  in  the  Germany 
of  Winkelmann  and  Goethe.  The  watchword  was 
now  the  harmonious  development  of  mankind  in 
the  way  pointed  out  by  Nature,  and  the  true 
method  of  attaining  this  ideal  was  seen  to  be  once 
again — the  study  of  Antiquity. 

Accordingly,  the  Gymnasia  set  about  their  new 
task  with  extreme  energy.  This  is  the  so-called 
"  New  Humanistic  "  movement.  Then,  for  the 
first  time,  the  Greek  language  and  literature 
claimed  equal  rights  with  the  Latin,  for  the 
leaders  of  thought  of  that  day  believed  quite 
rightly  that  the  life  of  Greece  approached  their 
ideal  nearer  than  the  life  of  Rome.  At  the  present 
moment  we  are  again  in  a  period  of  transition, 
and  we  see  already  clearly  traced  the  new  point 
of  view  from  which  the  coming  century  will  regard 
Antiquity.      The   development    of    the    Natural 


20 


Our  Debt  to  Antiquity 


Sciences  has  given  prominence  to  the  principle  of 
Evolution  :  Antiquity  has  become  doubly  precious 
to  us  as  the  cradle  of  every  one  of  the  ideas  which 
we  have  hitherto  cherished.  And  we  see  how 
Humanism  finds  itself  at  variance  with  the  so- 
called  Historic  movement  in  the  very  questions 
connected  with  classical  education.  It  seems, 
moreover,  that  the  latter  school  is  gaining  the 
day.  Of  course,  we  shall  have  to  return  to  this 
extremely  important  consideration.  For  the 
present,  however,  it  will  be  sufficient  to  assure 
you  that  this  is  already  the  sixth  conscious  atti- 
tude in  regard  to  the  importance  of  the  study  of 
Antiquity.  It  has  made  its  appearance  just  in 
the  nick  of  time  to  relieve  the  New  Humanistic 
attitude. 

It  is  curious,  too,  to  trace  the  changes  which 
have  passed  over  the  methods  of  instruction  in 
classical  education  according  to  the  different 
points  of  view  from  which  the  purpose  of  this 
study  was  apprehended.  I  am  unable  to  dwell  on 
this  at  length.  I  must  rest  content  with  indicating 
the  most  obvious  and  palpable  changes  which  are 
expressed  in  the  choice  of  authors  at  each  different 
epoch.  During  the  first  period,  when  Latin  was 
studied  for  the  salvation  of  the  soul,  we  find,  as  is 
natural,  that  religious  works  form  the  central 
point  of  the  curriculum.  During  the  second, 
which  we  may  call  the  scientific  period,  the  main 
subjects  of  study  were  the  handbooks  of  the 
respective  sciences,  such  as  the  Latin  Aristotle 
and  the  so-called  Aries ;  that  is  to  say,  treatises 


Our  Debt  to  Antiquity 


21 


on  Mathematics  and  Astronomy,  and  also  on 
Medicine  and  Law,  and  so  on.  In  the  third,  or 
Old  Humanist  epoch,  it  was  Cicero  as  the  master 
of  Latin  oratory.  In  the  fourth,  the  epoch  of 
"  enlightenment,"  it  was  Cicero  again,  but  this 
time  as  the  philosopher.  In  the  fifth,  the  New 
Humanistic  period,  it  was  Homer,  the  tragic 
poets,  and  Horace.  We  are  living  on  the  tradi- 
tions of  this  period,  but  already  there  is  felt  a 
growing  need  of  a  careful  selection  from  ancient 
literature,  so  as  to  represent  Antiquity  to  young 
scholars  as  precisely  the  cradle  of  our  ideas. 

Quite  recently  Wilamowitz  in  Germany  has 
sought  to  meet  this  need  by  compiling  a  Greek 
"  Reading  Book,"  and  his  experiment  has  deeply 
interested  all  the  teaching  profession  in  his  own 
country.  No  doubt  this  movement  will  in  time 
reach  us  in  Russia  as  well ;  very  probably  it 
would  have  made  its  presence  felt  already,  were 
it  not  for  the  recent  unrest  in  our  schools.  How- 
ever this  may  be,  I  have  shown  you  the  series  of 
changing  points  of  view  from  which  the  study  of 
Antiquity  has  been  regarded  during  the  different 
periods  of  our  civilisation.  This,  too,  may  serve 
as  an  answer  to  the  ignorant  reproach  that  w^e 
have  nothing  now  to  learn  from  Antiquity,  as  we 
have  outstripped  it ;  and  likewise  to  the  equally 
ignorant  reproach  that  classical  studies  have  come 
to  a  standstill  and  are  not  keeping  up  with  the 
times.  But  all  these  aims  were,  as  I  have  stated, 
transitory.  They  were  aims  towards  which  society 
consciously  strove  in  each  of  the  periods  men- 


22 


Our  Debt  to  Antiquity 


tioned,  and  society  has  rendered  an  account  for 
them  ahke  to  itself  and  to  us.  The  true  aim, 
however,  of  which  men  were  not  conscious,  was 
the  all-important  goal  to  which  all  selection  tends 
— namely,  the  improvement  of  Humanity :  in  this 
case  man's  cultural,  that  is  to  say,  his  intellectual 
and  moral  improvement. 

But,  it  may  be  asked,  in  what  way  does  the 
path  of  classical  education  tend  to  improve  man- 
kind intellectually  and  morally  ?    This  very  ques- 
tion suggests  another.  Wherein  lies  the  educational 
value  of  Antiquity  ?    We  have  already  raised  this 
latter  question,  and  before  answering  it  I  proved 
to  you  that,  whether  our  answer  may  seem  satis- 
factory or  not,  the  fact  remains  indisputable  that 
the  study  of  Antiquity  is  an  extremely  important 
element  in  education.    This  has  been  unmistak- 
ably shown,  quite  independently  of  that  answer, 
by  considerations  adduced  from  the  history  of 
culture.     I  beg  you  to  bear  in  mind  this  fact  :    I 
attach  the  greatest  importance  to  it.     Precisely 
in  the  same  way  the  value  of  bread  as  an  article 
of  diet  was  well  established  long  before  it  had 
been  proved  by  Physiology  and  Organic  Chem- 
istry.   What  is  Physiology  in  this  instance  ?    The 
analysis  of  the  consuming  organism.    And  Chem- 
istry ?    The  analysis  of  the  substance  consumed. 
Now  substitute  mind  for  body,  education  for  diet, 
and  Antiquity  for  bread.     Do  there,  then,  exist 
sciences  in  this  connection  analogous  to  Physi- 
ology  and  Organic  Chemistry?    that  is  to  say, 
sciences  which  teach  us  how  to  analyse  the  or- 


Our  Debt  to  Antiquity 


23 


ganism  of  the  consumer  and  the  matter  consumed  ? 
Let  us  see. 

The  consuming  element  is  in  this  case  the 
human  intellect.  Its  analysis  is  the  business  of 
Psychology,  and  that  science  is  at  present  still  in 
a  state  of  infancy.  Psychology  is  as  yet  unable 
to  reply  to  all  the  questions  addressed  to  her. 
This  is,  indeed,  true  of  Physiology  as  well ;  but 
still,  the  latter  science  has  been  vastly  more  de- 
veloped, and  is  older  alike  in  years  and  in  experi- 
ence. Now,  as  to  the  analysis  of  the  diet  for 
consumption,  that  is  to  say,  Antiquity.  This 
analysis  is  not  intrinsically  very  difficult,  but  in 
this  case  a  study  of  the  effects  of  its  elements  upon 
man's  psychological  nature  is  indispensable  ;  in 
fact,  a  kind  of  psychological  science  of  knowledges. 
And  no  such  science  is  yet  in  existence,  as  the 
mere  combination  of  the  words  shows  you.  So, 
gentlemen,  you  must  not  ask  too  much  from  me. 
I  have  promised  you  to  answer  the  question  pro- 
posed, and  will  do  so  as  far  as  possible  with  the 
present  state  of  Psychological  sciences.  As  I  have 
remarked,  these  are  sciences  of  the  Future  ;  yet 
they  have  already  established  certain  principles 
upon  a  fairly  sure  basis,  and  their  methods  are 
becoming  ever  more  and  more  accurate,  so  that 
we  are  at  least  able  to  apprehend  in  what  manner 
and  in  what  direction  a  satisfactory  answer  to  the 
questions  which  beset  us  is  to  be  looked  for.  Yes, 
I  can  affirm  so  much  ;  but  I  beg  you  to  remember 
that  this  is  merely  a  temporary  answer,  and  that 
a  much  fuller  and  more  convincing  answer  can  be 


24 


Our  Debt  to  Antiquity 


given  only  by  our  posterity.  But  before  fulfilling 
my  promise  I  must  beg  you  to  bear  with  me  while 
I  make  a  few  remarks  on  the  real  meaning  of  the 
term  "educational  value."  I  am  particularly 
anxious  that  you  should  accept  nothing  from  me 
without  a  severe  custom-house  scrutiny,  so  to 
speak.  This  may  detain  us  for  a  few  minutes,  but 
in  return  I  shall  hope  to  gain  later  on  somewhat 
more  of  your  confidence. 

And  so  I  put  the  question  :  In  what  sense 
are  we  to  understand  the  expression  "  educational 
value  "  ? 

Let  us  begin  with  the  most  concrete  example 
possible.  A  carpenter  has  a  son.  He  wishes  to 
teach  him  a  carpenter's  trade.  In  this  instance 
the  problem  is  simple  and  intelligible  to  all.  The 
carpenter's  schooling  prepares  the  boy  directly  for 
real  hfe  ;  every  knack  of  the  trade  which  the  boy 
learns  will  be  eminently  useful  to  him  in  his  future 
work,  and  in  precisely  the  same  way.  We  can 
easily  picture  to  ourselves  a  carpenter's  school; 
it  will  be,  in  fact,  what  we  call  a  professional  or 
technical  school.  Is  there  any  justification  for  its 
existence  ?  Undoubtedly  there  is,  if  you  admit 
that  it  is  possible  or  desirable  to  settle  the  trade 
or  profession  of  a  boy  at  such  an  early  age.  But 
is  the  principle  of  "  professional  utilitarianism  " 
apphcable  to  intellectual  as  well  as  to  manual 
training  ?  To  some  extent  this  may  be  so,  as 
theological  schools,  military  and  naval  academies, 
and  other  secondary  schools  of  the  kind  may 
serve  to  show  ;   but  it  is  only  partiaUy  applicable. 


Our  Debt  to  Antiquity 


25 


For  most  intellectual  professions  there  are  no 
such  schools  in  existence ;  and  even  those  which 
I  have  just  mentioned  are  trying  more  and  more 
to  free  themselves  from  their  narrow  professional 
character  and  to  look  with  favour  on  a  general 
education  at  the  expense  of  any  special  branch. 
And,  generally  speaking,  it  is  recognised  that  we 
need  schools  which  do  not  insist  upon  deter- 
mining i  prioYX  the  future  profession  of  their 
scholars. 

What,  then,  should  be  the  nature  of  such 
schools,  assuming  always  that  they  are  intended 
to  prepare  their  scholars  for  real  life,  that  is  to 
say,  for  their  future  trade  or  profession  ?  This  is 
the  problem  of  squaring  the  circle  as  applied  to 
educational  questions  ;  and  the  efforts  made  to- 
day to  solve  it  are  as  successful  as  those  directed 
in  former  days  at  the  solution  of  that  famous 
mathematical  puzzle  itself.  I  will  indicate  certain 
methods  of  solving  the  problem  which  recommend 
themselves  to  the  man  in  the  street.  The  first  of 
these  is  as  follows  : 

There  is  a  demand  for  a  school  to  train  the 
future  lawyers,  doctors,  professors  of  Natural 
History,  engineers,  mathematicians,  scholars,  and 
so  on  ;  so  far,  so  good.  Its  programme  will  em- 
brace all  the  subjects  of  study  which  are  common 
to  all  these  departments  of  science.  The  short- 
comings of  this  system  are  plain  enough  ;  the 
fact  is  that  there  are  no  such  common  courses  of 
study,  or,  at  least,  extremely  few.  You  have  only 
to  compare  the  lists  of  lectures  provided  for  the 


26 


Our  Debt  to  Antiquity 


Our  Debt  to  Antiquity 


27 


Faculty  of  Law  with  those  for  the  Faculty  of 
Natural  Science,  or  the  programme  of  courses  in 
history  and  classics  with  that  of  any  technical 
institute,  and  you  will  be  convinced  of  this.  Now 
consider  the  second  possible  way.  Select,  if  you 
please,  in  equal  proportions  courses  of  Law,  Medi- 
cine, Physics,  Mathematics,  History,  Classics,  and 
other  subjects,  and  out  of  these  try  and  concoct 
a  programme  fit  for  a  secondary  school !  Now, 
there  are  people  simple  enough  to  believe  that 
this  is  feasible  ;  it  is,  however,  an  utter  impossi- 
bility. In  the  first  place  we  are  confronted  with 
a  confusing  and  deadening  multiplicity  of  sub- 
jects, and  in  the  second  place  the  principle  of 
utilitarianism  is  not  even  now  maintained,  for 
such  a  school  cannot  offer  any  of  its  scholars 
more  than  a  tenth  part  of  what  he  requires.  Thus 
we  may  ask,  what  sort  of  a  school  is  that  which 
combines  a  bare  tenth  of  useful  material  with 
nine-tenths  of  ballast  ? 

There  is  a  third  way.  Admitting  the  untena- 
bility  of  the  first  two  solutions,  one  may  propose 
to  disregard  entirely  in  our  secondary  schools  the 
future  career  of  our  scholars,  and  demand  merely 
that  they  leave  the  schools  as  educated  persons. 
In  other  words,  professional  and  utilitarian  con- 
siderations are  dehberately  eschewed  and  the 
principle  merely  of  education  introduced.  So  far, 
so  good.  But  what  do  we  mean  by  an  educated 
person  ?  The  answer  cannot  be  far  to  seek ;  for 
we  know  that  there  are  educated  persons.  What, 
then,  must  one  know  to  be  an  educated  person  ? 


An  author  of  great  reputation  in  educational 
matters  has  proposed  a  radical  measure  for  the 
solution  of  this  problem.  His  idea  was  to  subject 
educated  persons  to  a  catechism,  in  other  words, 
to  an  examination,  and  so  establish  a  standard  of 
departments  of  knowledge  without  which  a  man 
would  not  be  "  educated,"  and  then  to  make  these 
departments  of  knowledge  the  subjects  of  school- 
instruction.  It  would  be  amusing  to  carry  out 
this  plan  and  watch  the  results.  You  understand, 
of  course,  that  under  this  system  those  depart- 
ments of  knowledge  which  one  educated  man  pos- 
sesses still  do  not  fall  into  the  general  programme 
if  there  be  a  second  educated  man  who  does  not 
possess  them,  for  that  shows  that  one  can  be 
educated  even  without  their  possession.  Indeed, 
we  might  imagine  a  prodigy  who  could  tell  us 
the  names  of  thirty  Patagonian  villages — that  is 
his  speciality  ;  but  we  could  incorporate  into  our 
programme  only  what  all  educated  society,  or  at 
least  the  greater  part  of  it,  knows  about  Pata- 
gonia ;  that  is  to  say,  nothing  at  all.  And  so  it 
would  be  with  all  the  other  courses.  And  the  net 
result  would  be  :  in  Arithmetic  the  four  rules 
concerning  whole  numbers,  with  a  general  know- 
ledge of  fractions  ;  in  Geometry,  a  few  ordinary 
ideas  about  figures  and  sohd  bodies  ;  in  Algebra, 
nothing ;  in  Trigonometry,  nothing  ;  and  so  on 
in  its  entirety ;  a  programme  which  one  or  two  Gym- 
nasium classes  would  fully  exhaust.  It  is  easy  to 
see  that  this  way,  too,  fails  to  lead  us  to  our  goal. 
What,  then,  is  the  mistake  ?    It  hes  in  this,  that 


28 


Our  Debt  to  Antiquity 


we  consider  education  to  be  the  mere  acquirement 
of  knowledge.     But  whereas  knowledge  is  for- 
gotten,   education    is   never   lost ;     an   educated 
person,  even  though  he  have  forgotten  all  that  he 
has    learnt,    remains    an    educated    person.      In 
making  this  statement  I  am  very  far  from  wishing 
to  under-estimate  the  importance  of  knowledge; 
on  the  contrary,  I  maintain  that  a  man's  utility 
is  in  proportion  to  his  knowledge.    But,  gentlemen, 
different    persons   require    different    branches    of 
knowledge.    That  is  the  case  even  at  present,  and 
will  in  the  future  be  more  the  case  than  ever  ;  for 
knowledge    is    ever    becoming    more    and    more 
specialised.     The  number  of  branches  of  know- 
ledge  indispensable  to  all,  or  indeed  to  all  educated 
persons,  is  even  at  present  far  from  large,  and 
must  diminish  in  every  generation  as  knowledge 
itself  continues  to  increase  and  consequently  to 
be  specialised.    And  thus  to  draw  up  the  courses 
of  learning  for  our  secondary  schools  on  these 
prmciples  is  an  impossibility.    And  still  it  is  the 
duty  of  such  schools  to  give  all  those  who  are 
afterwards  to  be  educated  persons  precisely  what 
IS  likely  to  benefit  them  all  alike  ;    that  is  their 
whole  object.    And  how  shall  they  best  fulfil  this 
duty  ?    Obviously  by  preparing  a  scholar's  mind 
to  embrace  any  branch  of  knowledge  which  he 
may  need  afterwards  with  the  least  possible  ex- 
penditure  of  time   and  strength,  and  with   the 
greatest  possible  advantage  to  himself.    This  is  a 
truism,  stale  if  you  will,  but  a  truism  that  defies 
contradiction  and  is,  in  fact,  irrefutable. 


Our  Debt  to  Antiquity 


29 


If  it  were  my  task  to  draw  up  a  programme  for 
our  secondary  schools,  I  would  endeavour  to  con- 
vince you,  on  the  grounds  of  what  I  have  said, 
that  it  must  contain  the  following :  firstly, 
courses  providing  a  general  knowledge,  and 
secondly,  courses  providing  a  general  education  ; 
the  latter  class  would  naturally  rank  as  the  more 
important.  And  to  this  latter  class  would  natu- 
rally belong  the  courses  on  Mathematics,  Physics, 
and  Classics,  corresponding  to  the  three  methods 
of  human  thought— the  deductive,  the  inductive- 
experimental,  and  the  inductive-observant.  But, 
as  I  remarked  at  the  beginning  of  the  lecture,  my 
task  is  a  narrower  one.  I  intend  to  speak  of  the 
educational  value  only  of  my  own  course ;  that 
is  to  say,  the  Study  of  Antiquity. 

I  must,  by  the  way,  in  this  place  take  steps  to 
prevent  your  casting  on  me  a  greater  responsi- 
bility than  I  am  willing  and  able  to  bear.  I  know 
that  many  speakers  and  writers  are  continually 
proving  to  you  that  the  time  which  you  have  ex- 
pended on  the  study  of  the  ancient  classics  is  so 
much  time  lost  to  no  purpose  whatever,  and  that 
you  are  wont  to  applaud  this  statement.  I  mean, 
however,  to  prove  to  you,  gentlemen,  that  you 
have  not  wasted  your  time,  though  I  run  the  risk 
of  saying  what  may  displease  you.  But,  gentle- 
men, that  one  risk  is  enough  for  me.  I  will  not 
accept  responsibility  for  the  series  of  ideas  and 
feelings  which  you  possibly  connect  with  the  idea 
of  "classicism"  and  a  "classical  school."  I  am 
painfully  aware  that  our  classical  school  has  many 


30 


Our  Debt  to  Antiquity 


shortcomings  :  some  more,  some  less  serious,  as 
depending  on  the  quahfications  of  the  teachers 
and  the  pupils ;  and,  indeed,  this  factor  is  of 
more  importance  than  all  the  programmes  and 
circulars  in  the  world.  But  I  know,  too,  that 
because  Hygiene  is  on  a  bad  footing  in  Turkey 
it  does  not  follow  that  the  science  of  medicine 
has  proved  useless  everywhere.  Thus  my  task 
does  not  consist  in  praising  the  merits  of  this  or 
that  gymnasium,  but,  as  I  said,  in  putting  clearly 
before  you  the  advantages  of  a  study  of  Antiquity, 
pursued  according  to  methods  which  meet  with  my 
approval,  and  which  a  long  experience  has  taught 
me  to  be  possible  as  well. 

I  shall  now  proceed  to  the  solution  of  that 
problem.  What  I  have  said  hitherto  has  been 
solely  with  the  object  of  explaining  its  meaning 
and  of  clearing  away  the  ground.  It  may  be  that 
I  have  devoted  too  much  time  to  this  purpose  and 
have  set  too  little  store  by  your  attention,  obser- 
vation, and  impartial  judgment.  If  this  be  so, 
I  beg  you  to  excuse  me.  I  have  been  schooled  by 
bitter  experiences,  for  which,  too,  I  am  obhged  to 
people  in  whom  I  had  far  more  reason  to  exj^ect 
all  these  virtues  than  in  yourselves. 


LECTURE    II* 


THE  ancient  world — as  the  term  itself  shows — 
covers  an  extremely  wide,  rich,  and  many- 
sided  department  of  knowledge.  It  is,  indeed,  a 
peculiar  "  World,"  sharply  marked  off  from  our 
own,  but  still  connected  with  it  by  a  thousand 
links,  of  most  of  which  we  are  unconscious.  The 
study  of  this  world,  and  the  utilising  of  its  ideas 
for  the  enrichment  of  the  intellectual  and  moral 
culture  of  the  present  world — and  the  former  aim 
is  useless  without  the  latter — that  is  the  enviable 
task  of  the  band  of  scholars  to  whom  I  have  the 
honour  and  the  good  fortune  to  belong.  The 
pupils  in  our  secondary  schools  get  to  know  this 
world  of  Antiquity  only  to  a  very  small  degree, 
by  mastering  the  mere  elements  of  classical  learn- 
ing, which  enter  into  the  programme  of  so-called 
classical  education.  These  elements  are,  first, 
the  scheme  of  both  classical  languages  in  their 

*  The  word  apperception  is  here  used  in  the  sense  in 
which  it  was  employed  by  Herbart,  to  denote  the  process 
which  affects  progressively  a  series  of  mental  states,  each 
such  state  acquiring  during  the  orderly  progression  of 
such  series  a  new  set  of  facts  or  determinations  which 
modify  or  alter  the  primary  state.  Thus  a  subject  learnt 
by  apperception  entails  a  regular  and  orderly  advance  of 
knowledge,  the  new  facts  or  impressions  acquired  modify- 
ing, or  it  may  be  fundamentally  changing,  the  state  of 
mind  resulting  from  previous  experiences. 

31 


32 


Our  Debt  to  Antiquity 


tripartite  division  :  Etymology,  Semasiology  (vul- 
go  Vocabulary),  and  Syntax  ;  in  the  second  place, 
selections  chosen  from  the  best  productions  of 
ancient  literature,  which  are  read  and  explained 
in  the  original ;  thirdly,  such  acquaintance  with 
the  various  aspects  of  Antiquity  as  is  promoted 
by  a  journey  through  ancient  history,  by  the 
perusal  of  isolated  passages  in  translations,  by 
stories  of  ancient  life,  by  brief  introductory  lec- 
tures to  ancient  philosophy,  literature,  civil  and 
criminal  law,  by  dissertations  on  monuments  of 
ancient  art,  by  the  information  contained  in  good 
modern  novels  dealing  with  the  life  of  the  ancients, 
and,  wherever  possible,  by  a  cursory  perusal  of 
entire  "family  and  domestic"  works,  and  so  on. 

These  three  elements  of  classical  learning  must 
form  our  starting-point,  or  rather  the  two  first 
named ;  the  third  must  wait  for  discussion  till 
the  second  part  of  my  lectures,  which  is  devoted 
to  the  value  of  Antiquity  for  modern  culture.  And 
so  to  begin  with  the  first :  Wherein  consists  the 
educational  value  of  the  ancient  languages  as 
such  ?  First  and  foremost  in  the  method  em- 
ployed in  learning  them.  There  are  two  main 
methods  of  learning  languages,  and  these  two 
methods  correspond  to  the  two  fundamental 
activities  of  our  intellect.  I  have  already 
told  you  in  the  previous  lecture  that  the 
science  which  treats  of  our  intellectual  diges- 
tion, so  to  say,  and  is  alone  capable  of  settling 
the  educational  value  of  any  given  course  is 
Psychology ;  it  is  natural,  therefore,  that  we  should 


Our  Debt  to  Antiquity 


33 


now  summon  that  science  to  our  aid.  The  two 
fundamental  activities  of  which  I  speak  are  termed, 
in  contemporary  Psychology,  association  and 
apperception.  Both  processes  alike  aim  at  the 
reception  and  the  reproduction  of  intellectual 
material  by  our  mental  organism  ;  but  one  of 
these  processes  entails  a  greater  degree  of  atten- 
tion than  the  other.  If  a  word,  which  I  have 
chanced  to  hear  under  certain  definite  circum- 
stances, on  the  repetition  of  these  same  circum- 
stances rises  spontaneously  into  my  memory,  then 
we  ascribe  this  result  to  association.  If,  however, 
in  both  reception  and  reproduction,  an  effort  of 
memory  has  to  be  made,  then  we  name  the  corre- 
sponding activity  of  our  mind  apperception. 

Now  let  us  apply  what  has  been  said  to  the 
process  of  learning  languages.  It  is  by  means  of 
association,  that  is  to  say,  by  the  merely  passive 
process  of  attention,  that  a  man  masters,  first  of 
all,  his  own  mother  tongue.  By  this  process,  how- 
ever, he  gains  nothing  but  a  mere  mechanical 
knack,  so  to  say,  which  enables  him,  indeed,  with- 
out effort  to  master  and  use  all  the  treasures  at 
his  disposal  in  the  etymology,  vocabulary,  and 
syntax  of  his  own  language  ;  while,  at  the  same 
time,  he  is  unable  to  account  for  the  reasons  why 
he  uses  them  just  in  that  particular  way.  In  other 
words,  he  is  ignorant  of  the  structure  of  the 
language.  All  modern  languages  are  learnt  by 
the  process  of  association  by  those  whose  mother 
tongues  they  are ;  and  it  is  just  because  this 
method  of  rapidly  learning  a  language  is  so  easy 

D 


34 


Our  Debt  to  Antiquity 


and  practical  that  it  should  be  applied,  as  far  as 
possible,  to  foreign  languages  as  well.  Latterly 
the  method  of  association  for  acquiring  foreign 
languages  has  found  its  way  into  our  schools  also, 
and  there  seems  no  doubt  that,  however  it  be 
called,  it  will  come  in  time  to  be  the  dominating 
method.  First,  however,  of  course,  it  must  be 
purged  of  the  extravagancies  which  still  burden  it. 

The  method  of  apperception  is  the  opposite  to 
that  of  association.  By  this  method  we,  first  and 
foremost,  study  the  structure  of  a  language ;  we 
master  with  full  consciousness  the  peculiarities  of 
its  etymology,  vocabulary,  and  syntax,  and  step 
by  step  we  learn  to  understand  and  form  first 
simple  sentences,  then  progressively  harder  ones, 
and  finally  periods  and  series  of  periods.  By  this 
means  we  arrive  at  not  the  mere  mechanical 
readiness  of  which  I  spoke,  but  at  a  scientific 
knowledge  of  the  structure ;  for  instance,  a  learner 
will  master  the  rules  of  the  sequence  of  tenses  long 
before  he  begins  to  use  the  proper  tense  in  a  given 
case  without  hesitation  or  mistake.  But  if  so, 
it  follows  that  all  that  is  said  about  the  utility  of 
the  study  of  language  applies  only  to  the  method 
of  apperception. 

How  little  intellectual  influence  is  exercised  by 
the  method  of  association  we  may  see  at  once  in 
the  case  of  waiters  in  foreign  hotels  ;  they  talk 
quite  glibly  in  several  languages  which  they  have 
learnt  by  this  method.  Now,  we  have  seen  that 
we  all  learn  our  mother  tongues  by  the  method  of 
association,  and  by  it  alone.    The  method  of  ap- 


Our  Debt  to  Antiquity 


35 


i 


perception  is,  indeed,  quite  impossible  in  this  case, 
for  the  language  is  learnt  at  an  age  when  the  mind 
is  as  yet  too  undeveloped  to  assimilate  anything 
by  apperception.  We  have  seen,  further,  that 
modern  foreign  languages,  in  the  acquisition  of 
which  the  method  of  apperception  is  by  itself 
quite  possible,  are  ever  tending  more  and  more 
to  the  adoption  of  the  method  of  association,  and 
in  process  of  time  will  employ  it  altogether.  We 
have  no  call  to  check  this  movement,  for  the  main 
object  in  learning  modern  languages  is  to  be  able 
to  speak,  or  at  least  to  read,  them  readily  and 
easily,  and  this  end  is  certainly  attained  more 
readily  and  easily  by  the  method  of  association. 
Hence  it  will  be  understood  that  all  that  has  been 
said  about  the  educational  utility  of  the  study  of 
languages  applies  solely  to  the  study  of  the  ancient 
languages. 

Before  proceeding  further,  let  us  review  the 
results  already  gained.  We  have  proved  the 
educational  value  of  ancient  languages  in  general ; 
we  have  not  proved  that  these  ancient  languages 
must  necessarily  be  Greek  and  Latin  ;  and  we 
have  not  proved  that  both  must  be  regarded  as 
essential  and  not  merely  one  of  the  two.  We  need 
hardly  trouble  to  notice  any  objection  raised  on 
the  former  of  these  grounds,  although  we  un- 
fortunately hear  it  often  enough  insisted  on.  In 
the  first  place,  however,  whoever  wishes  to  intro- 
duce into  our  secondary  schools  the  study  of 
ancient  Hebrew  or  of  Sanskrit  in  place  of  Latin 
and  Greek  shows  that  he  has  no  idea  of  the  nature 


36 


Our  Debt  to  Antiquity 


of  either  group  of  languages.  In  the  second  place, 
the  weak  point  of  all  such  substitutes  for  the 
classical  languages  consists  in  the  fact  that  each 
one  of  them  is  proved  to  be  suitable  to  a  certain 
degree  in  some  one  feature  only  of  these  which 
collectively  form  the  strength  of  the  classical  lan- 
guages. Accordingly,  if  we  put  all  such  proposed 
substitutes  together,  so  as  to  form  an  equivalent 
at  all  points  for  Latin  and  Greek,  their  sum  will 
prove  far  more  burdensome  than  the  two  classical 
languages  alone,  and  the  result  will  be,  instead  of 
a  harmonious  whole,  a  disordered  chaos  of  dis- 
jointed and  unconnected  scraps  of  knowledge. 
The  second  objection  that  I  indicated,  namely, 
that  we  have  not  as  yet  proved  the  necessity  of 
learning  both  languages,  is  correct ;  but  correct 
only  "  as  yet." 

Now  to  proceed.  It  stands  to  reason  that  those 
languages  must  be  the  most  intellectually  fruitful 
and  must  best  repay  their  acquisition  by  the  ap- 
perceptive method,  which  firstly,  by  virtue  of 
their  organic  structure,  afford  the  greatest  amount 
of  intellectual  nourishment ;  and  which,  secondly, 
by  virtue  of  their  psychological  peculiarities,  form 
the  most  desirable  complement  to  the  mother 
tongue.  Let  us  deal  with  the  second  desideration 
first.  I  repeat  once  more,  gentlemen,  what  I  have 
already  told  you  :  Psychology  answers  in  the 
sphere  of  things  intellectual  to  Physiology  ;  and 
Chemistry  is  replaced  by  what  I  called  the  psycho- 
logical science  of  Knowledges.  With  the  aid  of 
these  two  sciences  we  shall  be  able  some  time  or 


Our  Debt  to  Antiquity 


37 


other  to  analyse  fully  what  I  have,  with  more 
truth  than  poetry,  termed  our  intellectual  diges- 
tion. I  have  given  you  already  an  example  of  the 
application  of  Psychology  to  our  subject  when  I 
spoke  to  you  of  association  and  apperception.  I 
must  now  give  you  an  example  to  illustrate  what 
I  mean  by  the  "  Psychological  science  of  know- 
ledges "  in  its  application  to  linguistics. 

We  differentiate  in  languages  two  kinds  of  ele- 
ments. In  the  first  place,  such  as  express  visi- 
bihty  and  generally  objects  of  immediate  sensa- 
tion ;  in  the  second  place,  those  that  express  the 
results  of  our  reflective  powers.  The  first  we  call 
sensuous,  the  second  intellectual  elements  ;  that 
distinction,  as  you  will  see,  is  in  touch  with  the 
distinction  between  natural  and  abstract  elements, 
but  does  not  coincide  altogether  with  it.  Judging 
by  the  predominance  of  these  or  those  elements  in 
languages,  we  differentiate  languages  also  into 
similar  groups  ;  that  is  to  say,  some  languages  we 
call  sensuous,  others  intellectual.  Now,  if  you 
were  to  construct  a  table  from  this  point  of  view 
indicating  progressively  the  languages  akin  to  our 
own,  in  which  the  first  language  on  the  list  should 
be  that  which  appeals  most  to  the  intellect  and 
least  to  the  senses,  and  the  last  language  that 
which  appeals  least  to  the  intellect  and  most  to 
the  senses,  we  should  find  at  the  two  extremities 
of  our  line  of  progression  the  Latin  and  the 
Russian  languages  respectively.  The  contrast 
between  them  is  shown  most  strikingly  in  the 
system  of  their  respective  inflections. 


38 


Our  Debt  to  Antiquity 


The  sensuous  character  of  a  language  betrays 
itself  most  evidently  in  the  so-called  system  of 
"  aspects."*  This  scheme  of  "  aspects  "  repro- 
duces for  us  the  immediate  impression  received  by 
the  organs  of  the  senses.  As  contrasted  with  this, 
the  intellectual  character  of  a  language  finds  its 
expression  by  its  tenses  on  the  one  hand,  and  by 
its  moods  on  the  other.  The  tenses  are  the  result 
of  an  assorting  memory  and  of  reflection.!  The 
memory  preserves  the  pictures  of  events  in  correct 
historical  perspective,  projecting  these,  as  it  does, 
not  on  one  common  background,  but  on  several, 
in  their  due  and  natural  sequence.  Reflection, 
again,  creates  similar  scenes  for  future  events  as 
well.  Remember  how  you  had  to  translate  into 
Latin  a  sentence  like  the  following  :  "If  you  will 
come  to  me,  we  will  go  for  a  walk."  The  Latin 
for  "  you  will  come  "  is  venies  ;  therefore  a  Rus- 
sian [or  an  Englishman]  is  tempted  to  write  cum 
ad  me  venies  ambulabimus,  which  would  be  wrong. 
For  the  act  of  coming  precedes  the  walk.  Two 
different  shades  of  the  future  are  denoted  ;  we 
have  to  employ  the  "  Futurum  exactum,"  or  so- 
called  perfect  future,  and  say,  "  Cum  ad  me  veneris 
ambulabimus."  This  differentiation  the  Russian 
language  does  not  express,  but  blends  all  the  steps 
of  the  sequence  in  the  common  background  of  the 
Future.     Latin,  on  the  other  hand,  expresses  it, 

*  These  "aspects"  are  strongly  represented  in  the 
Russian  verb,  which  differentiates  in  form  lasting,  com- 
pleted, repeated  and  isolated  action. 

t  Cf.  Weise.  "Characteristics  of  the  Latin  Language," 
Chap.  1. 


Our  Debt  to  Antiquity 


39 


and  demands  of  you  that  when  you  write  in  Latin 
you  should  summon  reflection  to  your  aid.  Thus 
it  is  that  in  our  northern  lands  of  mist  the  different 
optic  distances  are  commonly  merged  in  one 
common  grey  background,  thereby  contrasting 
with  the  sharp  outlines  of  southern  climes  with 
their  sunny  glow  and  their  distinctness.* 

In  this  respect  the  moods  are  even  more  instruc- 
tive. They  are  the  result  of  the  same  reflective 
faculty,  which  is  not  satisfied  with  the  simple  state- 
ment of  the  naked  truth  as  it  is  conveyed  to  us  by 
our  senses,  but  which  carefully  differentiates  the 
various  relations  in  which  the  given  action  stands 
to  the  truth,  beginning  with  their  absolute  corre- 
spondence, continuing  with  the  idea  of  probability, 
then  followed  by  that  of  mere  possibility,  and  con- 
cluding with  their  absolute  difference.  Tenses  and 
moods  are  particularly  fully  developed  in  the  two 
classical  languages — the  tenses  remarkably  so  in 
Latin,  and  the  moods  in  Greek ;  the  aspects,  on 
the  other  hand,  are,  especially  in  Latin,  but  feebly 
developed.  In  Russian,  however,  the  tenses  are 
hardly  marked  at  all,  the  moods  are  entirely 
wanting  ;  but  the  aspects  have  arrived  at  a  stage 
of  development  such  as  is  found  in  no  other 
language. 

Thus  the  ancient  languages  are  primarily  intel- 
lectual, and  as  such  they  form  a  desirable  comple- 
ment to  Russian,  which  is  primarily  sensuous.  It 
is  particularly  interesting  to  observe  in  this 
connection  that  our  opponents,  when  confronted 

♦  This  sentence  is  not  in  the  second  edition. 


40 


Our  Debt  to  Antiquity 


with  the  contrast  to  which  we  have  alluded,  enlist 
this  very  contrast  in  their  service.  "  Latin,"  so 
they  say,  "  in  its  construction  stands  in  sharp 
opposition  to  Russian  ;  consequently  we  Russians 
do  not  need  it  at  all."  The  fallacy  of  this  syllogism 
will  at  once  appear  if  we  transfer  its  application  to 
more  material  ground.  Just  imagine  an  economist 
who  would  argue  thus  :  "  Russia  is  pre-eminently 
an  agricultural  country  ;  it  follows  that  it  is  un- 
necessary to  import  industrial  products  ;  nothing 
but  wheat  need  be  imported.  Britain,  on  the 
other  hand,  is  pre-eminently  an  industrial  state  ; 
hence  she  requires  the  importation  of  industrial 
products  ;  but  she  needs  no  wheat."  In  such  a 
case,  moreover,  history  comes  to  the  support  of 
theory  and  confirms  its  conclusions.  In  every 
modern  language  Latin  has  supplied  the  place  of 
the  instructor  who  has  '*  intellectualised  "  it ;  and 
after  this  first  schooling  and  intellectualisation 
they  passed,  as  we  have  seen,  with  its  help  again 
through  a  second  period  also,  that  bestowed  on 
them  artistic  finish.  The  creator  of  German  prose 
style  was  Lessing  ;  of  French,  most  hkely  of  all 
writers,  Balzac  the  elder  ;  of  Itahan,  Boccaccio  ; 
all  three  chose  dehberately  Latin  examples  as 
their  models  and  followed  in  particular  Cicero. 

Now  let  us  proceed  to  the  first  point  which  I 
proposed  to  you.  I  maintain  that  the  classical 
languages  must  be  held  to  be  the  most  fruitful 
and  advantageous  for  the  process  of  "apperceptive" 
learning,  because,  owing  to  their  structure,  they 
afford  the  greatest  amount  of  intellectual  nutriment. 


Our  Debt  to  Antiquity 


41 


To  prove  our  point  we  must  scrutinise  some- 
what more  closely  the  "  unfruitful  waste  "  of  the 
ancient  languages,  as  our  opponents  are  wont  to 
call  it.  Let  us  begin  at  the  beginning.  In  the 
very  first  lesson  in  Latin  the  scholar,  to  his  great 
relief,  finds  that  the  reading  presents  no  diffi- 
culties, owing  to  the  nearly  absolute  correspond- 
ence of  the  pronunciation  with  the  print,  of  the 
sounds  with  the  letters.  There  is  no  modern 
language  in  which  this  correspondence  is  so  com- 
plete ;  indeed,  from  this  point  of  view  alone  Latin 
deserves  to  be  the  first  foreign  language  introduced 
to  a  boy.  Surely  it  is  far  more  natural  to  pro- 
nounce at  once  the  word  est  as  it  is  written,  and 
not  till  the  study  of  French  has  been  entered  on 
to  learn  the  later  mutilated  pronunciation,  eh, 
than  to  teach  from  the  outset  that  one  and  the 
same  word  is  pronounced  eh,  but  written,  for  some 
unintelligible  reason,  est. 

Before  proceeding  further,  however,  let  us  ask 
ourselves  how  much  advantage  the  lucidity  of  the 
Latin  language  has  brought  us  as  expressed  in  the 
correspondence  of  its  pronunciation  and  ortho- 
graphy. Only  that  the  pronunciation  may  be 
learned  with  no  trouble  ?  Not  so.  In  one  of  my 
future  lectures  I  mean  to  speak  to  you  on  the 
idea,  so  fashionable  nowadays,  of  "  lightening  " 
school  work,  and  to  draw  your  attention  to  the 
serious  dangers  of  a  social  character — yes,  gentle- 
men, of  a  social  character — which  this  process 
entails.  All  school  work  is  of  two  kinds  :  educative 
work  and  nan- educative  work.    By  educative  work 


42 


Our  Debt  to  Antiquity 


Our  Debt  to  Antiquity 


43 


I  understand  work  which  constrains  you  to  use 
your  mind,  as  you  bring  a  special  instance  under 
a  general  rule.  Such  work,  too,  has  its  value  from 
a  moral  point  of  view,  teaching  you,  as  it  does,  to 
appreciate  the  force  of  law,  and  not  of  caprice,  as 
your  guide,  and  to  accept  nothing  on  credit  with- 
out good  grounds  on  which  to  base  belief.  Now, 
remember  all  the  trouble  which  it  cost  you  to 
learn  the  orthography  of  the  French  language, 
owing  to  its  non-correspondence  with  the  pronun- 
ciation. Can  you  call  such  work  as  this  intellectu- 
ally or  morally  educative  ?  Why  is  a  word  pro- 
nounced as  eh  written  sometimes  ci,  sometimes  est, 
sometimes  ait  ?  What  is  the  reason  of  the  appear- 
ance of  the  unpronounced  and  unnecessary  letter 
g  in  doigt,  a  finger  ?  Why  have  the  words  honneur, 
labeur  no  final  e,  while  we  find  it  in  demenre  and 
hetire  ?  To  these  questions  no  answer  is  given  ; 
the  only  sufficient  reason  which  can  present  itself 
to  the  student  is  "  that  my  teacher  said  it  was 
so,"  or  "  so  it  says  in  the  text-book."  Of  course, 
there  are  satisfactory  reasons  for  all  these  apparent 
discrepancies  ;  but  these  reasons  must  be  sought 
in  the  Latin  language.  The  orthography  of  the 
words  et,  est,  and  ait  is  perfectly  intelligible  to 
any  one  who  is  aware  that  they  come  from  the 
Latin  words  et,  est,  haheat.  The  superfluous  con- 
sonant g  in  doigt  will  puzzle  no  one  who  knows 
that  doigt  is  derived  from  digitus*  Again,  no  one 
can  be  misled  in  the  orthography  of  the  words  in 
eur(e)  who  knows  that  in  Latin  the  stem  of  the 

*  In  O.  Fr.,  however,  written  doit. 


words  in  the  first  category  mentioned— as  honor, 
labor — terminates  in  a  consonant ;  that  of  those 
in  the  second  category  in  a  vowel — as  hora,  mora. 

These  ar^  simple  facts,  and  in  all  that  I  have 
said  I  have  not  had  the  least  desire  to  depreciate 
the  value  of  the  French  language.  But  we  have 
in  our  mind's  eye  a  pupil  who  is  supposed  to  be 
learning  French  without  knowing  Latin.  He  is 
sensible  of  no  general  law  which  may  guide  him ; 
he  feels  merely  an  arbitrary  caprice ;  and  I  per- 
sonally deplore  every  hour  wasted  in  such  learning. 
It  neither  develops  nor  frees  the  intellect ;  on 
the  contrary,  it  crushes  and  stifles  its  innate 
desire  to  find  law  and  a  reasonable  cause  in  every 
particular  case.  And  precisely  for  this  reason  I 
count  it  one  of  the  great  merits  of  the  Latin  lan- 
guage, and  of  Greek  as  well,  that  from  the  outset 
they  liberate  the  learner  from  this  toil  and  drud- 
gery. 

The  same  lucidity  of  construction  which  facili- 
tates our  understanding  of  the  principle  of  cause 
and  effect— so  important  for  the  development  of 
the  mind— appears  in  later  stages  as  well,  begin- 
ning with  the  accidence.  There  are  five  declensions 
in  Latin.  Why  precisely  five  ?  I  ask  a  pupil  to 
form  the  genitive  plural  in  all  these  five  consecu- 
tively :  mensarum,  hortorum,  turrium,  statwum, 
dierum  ;  and  then  the  ablative  singular  :  mensa, 
horto,  turri,  statw,  di^.  The  same  vowels  meet 
us,  and  each  declension  has  its  own.  Now  the  boy 
sees  why  the  Latin  language  has  five  declensions. 
It  is  because  it  has  five  vowels.     But  besides 


44 


Our  Debt  to  Antiquity 


vowels  there  are  also  consonants.  And  so  in  Latin 
we  have  the  genitives  :  regum,  capi/um,  dolorum. 
It  is  clear  that  these  and  similar  words  are  de- 
clined like  those  in  i,  and  that  the  two  classes 
taken  together  form  the  so-called  third  declension. 
Now  the  pupil  understands  why  certain  words  of 
the  third  declension  have  in  particular  cases  the 
terminations  -i,  -ium,  -ia  ;  whereas  others  have 
'6,  -tim,  -a.  Then  follows  a  natural  question  : 
*'  How  is  it  in  this  respect  with  Russian  ? "  And 
the  teacher  will  reply  that,  strictly  speaking,  it  is 
the  same  as  in  Latin.  In  Russian,  however,  it  is 
not  so  obvious,  because  the  terminations  have  be- 
come abbreviated.  "  But  when  the  time  comes 
for  you  to  learn  Church  Slavonic,"  the  teacher  will 
say,  "  you  will  find  that  in  the  Slavonic  group  of 
languages  also  the  declensions  depend  on  the  final 
vowel  of  the  stem,  that  they  also  possess  stems 
ending  in  -a,  -o,  -i,  and  -u  (only  not  in  -e),  and 
that  in  them  also  stems  ending  in  a  final  con- 
sonant have  become  partially  fused  with  stems 
in  4. 

The  same  phenomenon  appears  in  the  system  of 
the  Latin  conjugations  :  amare,  doc^re,  statwere, 
finire.  The  consonants  are  attached  to  the  u 
stems;  regere  and  scriftere  are  conjugated  like 
statwere.  But  why  do  we  find  no  stems  in  o? 
Because  they  are  unnecessary  with  the  a  stems  ; 
the  verb  firmare  does  common  duty  for  firmws  and 
firma.  All  this  does  not  belong  to  a  scientific  and 
historical  grammar  of  Latin.  It  is  merely  a 
common-sense  grammar  for  a  schoolboy.     That 


Our  Debt  to  Antiquity 


45 


very  character  it  bears  tends  to  convince  him  that 
law,  and  not  caprice,  reigns  supreme  in  the  Latin 
language,  and  that  every  phenomenon  in  that 
language  has  its  intelligible  cause.  Try  now  to 
obtain  the  same  results  in  German,  with  its  sense- 
less '  strong,'  '  weak,'  and  '  mixed  '  declensions, 
or  with  the  French  conjugations  and  their  equally 
senseless  and  arbitrary  terminations  in  -er,  -ir, 
-oir,  and  -re  I  To  apprehend  any  method  in  French 
I  must  once  again  call  Latin  to  my  assistance,  and 
refer  the  French  verbs  aimer,  finir,  devoir,  and 
vendre  to  their  Latin  originals  amare,  finire,  debere, 
and  vender e.  It  is  with  good  reason  that  Vinet, 
that  great  master  of  the  French  language  and 
literature,  says,  "  Le  latin  c'est  la  raison  du 
frangais,"  implying  thereby  that  French,  taken 
by  itself,  has  no  raison,  and  as  a  language  no 
nutriment  to  offer  to  the  intellect.  That  is  why 
there  is  every  reason  for  learning  French,  and 
indeed  all  modern  languages,  by  the  associative 
method.  The  apperceptive  method  should  be 
reserved  for  those  whose  structure  makes  it  worth 

while. 

"  But  the  exceptions  ?  "  you  will  say.  Yes,  of 
course.  If  we  only  were  able,  we  would  make 
Latin  without  any  exceptions  whatever.  As  it  is, 
we  may  fairly  congratulate  ourselves  that  they 
are  so  few.  Just  recall  the  easiest  of  the  Russian 
declensions— namely,  that  of  the  feminines  in  -a. 
There  you  have  words  absolutely  similar  in  form 
and  accentuation  which  yet  make  three  different 
differently  declined  types.    Or.  again,  take  another 


46 


Our  Debt  to  Antiquity 


easy  declension — the  masculines  with  the  hard 
final  sign.  Their  monosyllables  actually  fall  into 
four  types.  If,  then,  you  proceed — and  the  ap- 
perceptive method  compels  you  to  do  so — to  take 
any  one  of  these  types  as  *  the  rule,*  you  will 
soon  see  what  infinite  series  of  exceptions  will  pre- 
sent themselves.  Then  recall  the  genders  of  the 
French,  and  especially  the  German  substantives, 
and  you  will  readily  agree  that  the  exceptions 
to  the  rules  in  Latin  are  comparatively  very 
few. 

Still,  these  exceptions  do  exist,  and  as  far  as 
they  exist  they  increase  the  difficulty  of  master- 
ing languages  by  the  apperceptive  method.  What 
has  the  classical  school  to  say  to  these  excep- 
tions ?  As  a  school  with  a  serious  purpose,  it  de- 
mands intellectual  work  from  its  pupils,  but  only 
as  far  as  this  work  is  educative  and  profitable. 
Now  it  considers  the  learning  of  exceptions  as 
necessary,  indeed,  in  view  of  further  study,  but 
as  unprofitable  in  regard  to  intellectual  develop- 
ment. For  this  reason  it  has  lightened,  absolutely 
as  far  as  is  possible,  the  burden  of  learning  them. 
The  celebrated  economist  Biicher  has  given  in  his 
"  Work  and  Rhythm  "  his  theory  of  the  value  of 
Rhythm  as  a  national  economical  asset  owing  to 
its  power  of  easing  the  strain  of  work.  He  finds 
in  the  primitive  meaningless  and  merely  rhythmical 
melodies  sung  by  workmen  one  of  the  main  sources 
— he  actually  says  the  only  source  —  of  poetry. 
This  book  was  not  yet  written  at  the  date  which 
I  have  in  mind  ;    still,  the  facts,  which  Bucher 


Our  Debt  to  Ajitiquity 


47 


was  the  first  to  examine  with  such  care,  were 
recognised  even  before  his  time.  Further,  the 
classical  school  perceived  that  they  had  to  do  not 
with  adults,  but  with  children  nine  or  ten  years 
old,  for  whom  the  practice  of  committing  to 
memory  meaningless  rhythmical  concatenations 
of  words  is  a  physical  necessity.  We  need  only 
remember  that  this  is  just  the  age  when  children 
are  so  fond  of  playing  at  "counting,"  as  they  call 
it,  when  they  keep  on  repeating  some  gibberish  or 
other  destitute  of  meaning,  but  of  a  rhythmical 
form.  The  classical  school,  then,  utilised  the 
psychological  facts  to  which  I  have  alluded — 
namely,  first  the  power  of  rhythm  to  facilitate 
effort,  especially  in  regard  to  memory,  and, 
secondly,  the  readiness  of  children  to  learn  by 
heart  rhythmical  series  of  words.  So  it  found  a 
way  out  of  the  difficulty  into  which  the  existence 
of  exceptions  had  brought  it.  Its  anxiety  to 
facilitate  the  process  of  learning  them  caused  it 
to  draw  up  the  celebrated  rhyming  rules  with 
which  our  opponents  are  never  tired  of  reproach- 
ing us.  At  a  later  period  the  aims  of  education 
underwent  a  change,  so  that  it  became  possible 
to  abbreviate  these  rules  to  a  considerable  extent. 
In  this  shortened  form  they  have  proved  so  far 
the  best  method  for  the  assimilation  of  the  neces- 
sary matter.  I  have  employed  them  myself  when 
I  was  master  of  a  lowest  class.  I  remember  well 
how  the  comical  rhymes  and  the  droll  juxta- 
position of  the  curious  words  evoked  rounds  of 
healthy  boyish  laughter  from  my  pupils,  especially 


48 


Our  Debt  to  Antiquity 


when  at  the  close  of  the  lesson  I  made  them  repeat 
the  rhyming  rules  in  chorus.  I  consider  a  spirit 
of  hearty  cheeriness  to  be  a  supremely  healthy 
symptom — to  use  a  doctor's  expression — in  the 
education  of  young  schoolboys,  and  so  the  close 
of  the  lesson  came  always  to  be  regarded  as  a  kind 
of  amusing  game.  Had  our  school  doctor  agreed 
to  test  the  bluntness  of  my  boys*  nerves  after 
these  lessons,  I  think  that  he  would  have  been 
quite  satisfied! 

I  have  now  indicated  the  nature  of  Latin  acci- 
dence. Let  me  add  a  few  words  about  that  of 
Greek.  It  may  be  regarded  as  the  culminating 
point  of  Hnguistic  structure,  adding  as  it  does  the 
important  department  of  Phonetics.  Greek  alone* 
offers  a  properly  developed  phonetic  system ;  it 
alone  introduces  us  to  such  important  linguistic 
phenomena  as  the  contraction  of  vowels  and  the 
combination  of  consonants,  by  the  appreciation 
of  which  the  structure  of  language  becomes  still 
clearer  and  more  intelligible.  The  Greek  conju- 
gational  system  is  a  triumph  of  such  perspicuity. 
It  is  in  Greek  alone  that  this  feature  of  language 
can  be  treated  synthetically.  Let  me  show  a 
pupil  not  fully  constructed  forms,  but  merely 
their  component  elements.  I  tell  him  that  the 
stem  remains  generally  unchanged,  but  that 
different  appendages  are  attached  to  this  stem 
which  express  the  time  (the  so-called  tense  charac- 
teristics), the  mood  (the  so-called  connecting 
vowels),  the  person  and  the  number  (the  termina- 
tions).   I  teach  him  the  way  to  use  these  different 


Our  Debt  to  Antiquity  49 

elements  ;    I  draw  his  attention  to  the  fact  that, 
when  the  action  hes  in  the  past,  this  is  expressed 
by  the  prefixing  the  augment,  and  that  its  accom- 
plishment is  denoted  by  reduplication  ;   and  after 
this  a  pupil  will  rarely  need  my  aid  to  form  the 
whole  system  of  the  conjugation.     And  I  need 
hardly  say  that  this  process  of  resolving  linguistic 
forms  into  their  elements  explains  to  him  not 
merely   the   Greek   language— it   illuminates   for 
him  similarly  the  structure  of  any  given  language, 
in  fact,  of  language  in  general.    From  this  point 
of  view  we  may  say  that  Latin  accidence  reveals 
to  the  learner  the  anatomy  of  language,  and  Greek 
its  chemistry.    The  two  combined  give  him  a  clear 
insight  into  its  origin  and  construction.    Language 
will  not  seem  after  this  training  a  mass  of  purely 
conditional   and   arbitrary   rules,    but   a   natural 
phenomenon,  governed  by  law  and  majestic  in  its 
adherence  thereto.    Every  one  can  be  readily  per- 
suaded of  the  importance  of  reaching  such  a  view. 
Let  us  remember  that  language  is  part  of  the 
Nature  which,  indeed,  environs  us  everywhere  and 
always.     Now,  if  we  show  a  boy  how  this  part 
also  is  governed  by  law,  and  train  him  to  observa- 
tion in  this  field,  we  encourage  in  him  the  true 
scientific  spirit  which  fits  a  man  for  any  scientific 
pursuit.    I  cannot  dwell  on  this  consideration  any 
longer  ;   but  I  would  refer  you  to  the  "  Introduc- 
tion to  Philosophy  "  of  Fr.  Paulsen.    The  author 
proves   that   even   the   theory   of   evolution,    on 
which  Natural  Science  plumes  itself  so  proudly  in 
our  day,  was  applied  originally  by  W.  Humboldt 

£ 


so 


Our  Debt  to  Antiquity 


to  the  Latin  language,  and  only  at  a  later  period 
transferred  to  the  phenomena  of  material  nature. 
I  may  add  that  this  book  cannot  be  too  warmly 
recommended  to  those  who  entertain  the  mis- 
taken idea  that  the  method  of  scientific  research 
is  inseparably  bound  up  with  its  material.  How- 
ever, the  incorrectness  of  this  view  is  clear  to  all 
those  who  have  ever  studied  the  history  of  any 
science  or  who  have  themselves  worked  on  scien- 
tific methods. 

But  enough  for  to-day.  The  branch  of  know- 
ledge, whose  importance  I  have  tried  to  show  you, 
occupies  but  a  small  place  even  in  what  we  may 
call  "school  Antiquity,"  not  to  mention  the 
system  of  "  Antiquity  "  in  general ;  that  is  to  say, 
the  system  of  those  departments  of  knowledge 
which  are  connected  with  the  ancient  world. 
Still,  it  is  the  first  ground  which  a  man  who 
approaches  the  domain  of  Antiquity  has  to  cover, 
and  this  is  the  reason  why  we  are  met  in  dis- 
cussing it  by  so  many  questions  of  principle 
which  demand  to  be  cleared  up  at  any  cost.  On 
the  other  hand,  this  is  the  very  branch  of  classical 
education  which  is  most  reviled.  All  our  oppo- 
nents reproach  us  more  bitterly  than  for  any  other 
reason  with  the  grammar  of  the  ancient  languages, 
"that  barren  desert,"  as  they  call  it.  I  have 
tried  to  point  out  to  you  that  this  supposed  desert 
brings  forth  its  fruits,  and,  what  is  more,  fruits 
which,  if  not  always  sweet  to  the  taste,  are 
always  sound  and  healthy  both  intellectually  and 
morally. 


Our  Debt  to  Antiquity 


51 


And  with  that  I  close  to-day.  In  my  next  lec- 
tures I  hope  to  proceed  somewhat  more  quickly. 
We  may  do  so  without  fear  of  loss  to  our  subject, 
as  I  shall  devote  myself  to  aspects  of  Antiquity 
which  are  more  attractive  in  form  as  well  as  in 
subject. 


LECTURE   III 

BEFORE  beginning  my  third  lecture  on  the 
educational  value  of  Antiquity,  it  may  be 
useful  to  recall  briefly  to  your  memories  the  con- 
tents of  the  two  first  lectures  which  you  heard  a 
fortnight  ago.  We  saw,  first  of  all,  that  the  un- 
friendly attitude  of  a  large  section  of  society 
toward  Antiquity  ought  not  to  be  considered  as 
of  decisive  importance.  That  conscious  unfavour- 
able judgment,  the  product  of  delusion  and  de- 
ception, is  of  no  account  as  compared  with  the 
unconscious  favourable  judgment  of  the  same 
society,  which  has  cherished  classical  education 
now  for  from  fifteen  to  twenty  centuries.  The 
great  "  I  "  is  more  important  than  the  small  one. 
We  have  also  seen  that  the  educational  value  of 
Antiquity  must  be  accepted  as  a  fact  on  the 
ground  of  the  data  of  our  experience,  quite  inde- 
pendently of  our  success  or  failure  in  answering 
satisfactorily  the  question  of  wherein  it  consists. 
It  is  with  classical  education  as  with  bread.  The 
value  of  bread  was  accepted  as  a  fact  on  the 
ground  of  the  data  of  human  experience  long  be- 
fore the  physiology  of  digestion  and  Organic 
Chemistry  had  demonstrated  it  by  analysis.  After 
passing   briefly   over   certain   other   questions   of 

52 


Our  Debt  to  Antiquity 


53 


principle  we  came  to  our  main  problem — namely, 
to  explain  as  adequately  as  possible  the  educa- 
tional value  of  classical  study.  We  saw  that  three 
elements  form  the  classical  curriculum  in  our 
secondary  schools — namely,  the  structure  of  the 
two  languages,  passages  selected  for  reading  from 
the  best  productions  of  ancient  literature,  and 
instruction  of  various  sides  of  Antiquity  through 
the  medium  of  ancient  history,  and  so  forth.  We 
turned  our  attention  to  the  first  of  these  elements, 
the  structure  of  the  two  languages  with  its  three 
divisions — accidence,  vocabulary,  and  syntax.  I 
endeavoured  to  show  you  that  the  educational 
value  of  the  ancient  languages  as  such  consists  for 
us  mainly  in  the  fact  that  they  are  acquired  not 
by  the  method  of  association,  but  by  that  of 
apperception,  which  is  suitable  for  application  to 
the  ancient  but  not  to  modern  languages.  I 
showed  that  their  value  lies,  secondly,  in  the  fact 
that  their  psychological  peculiarities,  as  being  in- 
tellectual languages,  point  to  them  as  the  most 
desirable  complement  to  Russian,  an  essentially 
sensuous  language.  Thirdly,  we  saw  that  their 
structure  provides  the  greatest  amount  of  nutri- 
ment for  the  intellect.  The  value  of  this  mental 
pabulum,  so  to  say,  afforded  by  the  two  classical 
languages  we  have  established  in  the  first  in- 
stance for  their  accidence.  We  have  seen  that 
both  Latin  and  Greek  alike  are  almost  entirely 
free  from  the  indigestible  ingredients  which  are 
produced  by  a  dissimilarity  between  orthography 
and  pronunciation  and  merely  burden  the  memory. 


54 


Our  Debt  to  Antiquity 


We  have  seen,  too,  that  Latin  accidence,  owing  to 
its  relative  clearness,  shows  to  the  pupil  the 
anatomy  of  language  in  general  and  teaches  him 
thereby  to  regard  language  as  a  phenomenon  of 
Nature  subject  to  law.  The  so-called  exceptions — 
those  sources  of  perturbation  for  youthful  minds 
— are  relatively  few  ;  and  the  effort  of  their  com- 
mittal to  memory  can  be  lightened  materially.  I 
told  you,  also,  that  Greek  accidence,  owing  to  its 
still  greater  lucidity,  permits  us  to  analyse  the 
language  into  its  simplest  elements,  a  process 
which  I  described  as  linguistic  chemistry.  Here 
we  stopped.  The  characteristics  belonging  to  the 
two  other  parts  of  the  structure  of  the  classical 
languages — namely,  vocabulary  and  syntax — had 
perforce  to  be  postponed  to  the  present  lecture. 

But,  gentlemen,  before  I  set  about  this  task  I 
deem  it  fitting  to  communicate  to  you  certain 
reflections  aroused  by  the  attitude  of  some  of  my 
audience  to  my  first  two  lectures.  My  task  was 
and  is  the  appreciation  of  the  educational  value 
of  a  classical  education.  The  appreciation,  you 
will  note,  not  the  defence.  I  had  no  idea  of 
standing  forth  of  my  own  accord  as  their  apolo- 
gist. But  such  an  apologetic  element  appeared 
and,  indeed,  must  naturally  appear  of  itself. 
When  any  feature  of  public  life  is  attacked  un- 
fairly, a  correct  appreciation  of  it  must  involun- 
tarily assume  the  appearance  of  an  apology.  This 
fact  entails  an  awkward  consequence.  The  calum- 
niator is  disposed  to  regard  any  protest  raised 
against  his  calumnies  as  a  calumny  levelled  against 


Our  Debt  to  Antiquity 


55 


himself.  To  take  an  example :  A  student  of 
Natural  Science  maintains  that  the  study  of 
Antiquity  is  valueless.  I  controvert  him,  and 
prove  that,  on  the  contrary,  it  is  valuable  in 
various  ways.  Well,  says  my  opponent,  so  you 
hold  that  Natural  Science  is  useless  ?  Not  at 
all,  my  scientific  friend !  That  is  far  from  being 
my  opinion  ;  quite  the  contrary.  The  difference 
between  us  lies  just  in  this,  that  I  understand  and 
honour  your  science,  while  you  apparently  are  in- 
capable of  honouring,  that  is  to  say  understanding, 
mine. 

I  would  repeat  that  the  aim  of  these  lectures  is 
merely  to  point  out  the  characteristics  of  my 
special  branch  of  knowledge.  Here  and  there  I 
am  forced  by  necessity  to  say  a  word  in  its  de- 
fence and  in  my  own  ;  but  throughout  I  am  careful 
never  to  calumniate  anybody  or  anything.  I  will 
express  myself  more  clearly.  I  have  not  merely 
never  had  any  idea  of  calumniating  any  one,  I 
have  never  done  so.  I  am  fully  justified  in  saying 
this,  for  I  have  pondered  over  every  word  of  these 
lectures  with  that  precaution  kept  firmly  in  view. 
If,  however,  any  one  deem  himself  aggrieved  by 
anything  that  I  have  said,  then  I  permit  myself 
to  observe  to  him  that  this  feeling  is  the  result  of 
his  own  misinterpretation  of  my  words,  for  which 
I  am  not  to  blame.  I  could  not  foresee  such  mis- 
interpretations. Only  one  path,  as  I  said,  leads 
to  truth  ;  but  the  paths  of  delusion  are  in  number 
as  the  stars  in  heaven.  And  now  I  must  proceed 
with  my  subject. 


56 


Our  Debt  to  Antiquity 


The  educational  value  of  the  accidence  of  the 
two  classical  languages  we  discussed  in  the  pre- 
ceding lecture — very  cursorily,  of  course,  for  un- 
fortunately lack  of  time  prevents  our  going  further 
than  the  merest  rough  outline.    To-day  it  is  the 
turn  of  Semasiology.    This  subject  is  confined  in 
our  secondary  schools  to  the  acquisition  of  Latin 
and  Greek  "  words,"  and  lasts  during  the  whole 
course  of  instruction,  accompanying,  as  it  does, 
the  perusal  of  each  author.    You  may  ask  of  what 
use  it  is.     My  answer  is — of  great  and  manifold 
use.    I  have  in  view,  however,  merely  the  generally 
educational  value  of  the  classical  languages,  and 
so  I  will  not  dwell  on  the  importance  of  a  know- 
ledge of  their  vocabulary  for  the  conscious  appre- 
ciation of  the  Latin  and  Greek  words  which  con- 
tinue to  live  in  modern  languages,  more  especially 
in  scientific  terminology.    Nor  will  I  speak  of  the 
value  of  this  knowledge  as  facilitating  and  making 
intelligible  a  study  of  the  Romance  languages, 
notably  French.    And  yet  it  is  just  what  I  call  its 
generally  educational  value  which  is  most  in  dis- 
pute.   What  good  is  it,  people  ask,  to  be  able  to 
call  a  dog  in  Latin  "  canis,"  and  in  Greek  kvwv  ?  Is 
my  idea  of  a  dog  enriched  thereby  in  the  slightest 
degree  ?     When  I  hear  these  assertions— and  I 
often  do  hear  them— I  feel  like  the  chemist  who 
is  told  that  water  is  one  of  the  elements,  or  like 
the  astronomer  who  has  to  listen  to  an  account 
of  the  sun's  revolution  about  the  earth.     I  seem 
to  breathe  the  air  of  a  close,  musty  atmosphere, 
and  I  am  convinced  that  all  the  most  modern 


Our  Debt  to  Antiquity 


57 


n 


^ 


results  of  linguistic  science  have  passed  without 
leaving  a  trace,  ais  far  as  my  collocutor  is  con- 
cerned. W.  Humboldt  was  perfectly  right  when 
he  said  that  language  is  no  mere  machine  for  the 
understanding,  but  the  very  impress  of  the  spirit 
and  mental  outlook  of  the  speaker.  Prince  Vya- 
zemski  expressed  the  same  thought  in  his  verses  : 
"  Language  is  the  confession  of  the  people,  reveal- 
ing its  nature,  its  soul,  and  its  peculiar  life." 
Let  us  take  as  an  example  the  word  which  people 
commonly  say  on  taking  leave  of  each  other :  x^^/^^> 
"vale,"  "adieu,"  "farewell,"  "lebwohl."  Here 
each  language  expresses  a  fresh  idea,  a  fresh  particle 
of  the  confession  of  the  people  who  speak  it.  But, 
it  may  be  asked,  in  what  respect  are  the  classical 
languages  better  than  the  modern  in  this  con- 
nection ?  My  answer  is,  that  in  the  first  place 
they  are  mastered  by  the  apperceptive  method,  as 
has  been  previously  explained,  so  that  we  feel 
consciously  their  peculiarities  of  vocabulary.  The 
distinctive  features  of  the  modern  vocabularies, 
on  the  other  hand,  which  are  learnt  by  the  associ- 
ative method,  are  not  consciously  apprehended. 
A  Russian  who  speaks  French  will  reflect  as  little 
on  the  word  "  adieu,"  which  is  ever  on  his  lips,  as 
on  his  own  Russian  word  "  proscay."  On  the 
other  hand,  in  Greek  he  is  bound  to  learn  that 
Xaipc  means  properly  "  rejoice,"  and  only  sec- 
ondly "  good-bye."  In  Latin,  again,  he  will  be 
taught  that  "  vale "  is,  strictly  speaking,  "  be 
healthy  "  and  then  "  good-bye."  He  will  now 
catch  some  slight  touch  of  the  joyous  spirit  of 


N 


58 


Our  Debt  to  Antiquity 


Our  Debt  to  Antiquity 


59 


Greece  and  the  sober,  wholesome  spirit  of  Rome. 
Then  automatically,  hke  a  kind  of  ricochet,  the 
question  presents  itself  to  him  :  And  how  is  it  in 
Russian  ?  And  he  will  begin  to  reflect  on  the 
meaning  of  our  parting  salutation,  "  prosti," 
"proscay,"  that  is  to  say,  "pardon  me";  and 
this  scrap  of  the  confession  of  his  people  will 
awake  in  him  the  consciousness  that  his  mother 
tongue  is  indeed  a  noble  one,  instinct  with  soul 
and  feehng.  There  you  have  one  advantage  of 
the  knowledge  of  the  classical  languages,  or  rather 
two  ;  for  I  consider  that  a  constantly  aroused 
desire  to  institute  comparisons  between  my  own 
language  and  those  of  the  ancients  is  a  second 
valuable  element  in  classical  Semasiology.  This, 
however,  is  not  all. 

Its  third  merit  is  its  lucidity.  One  of  the  Latin 
words  of  the  third  declension  is  cor,  cordis,  the 
heart.  "  Have  we  ever  met  with  any  word  from 
the  same  stem  ?  "  I  ask  a  pupil.  "  Yes — Con- 
cordia." "  What,  then,  is  the  proper  meaning  of 
Concordia  ?  "  "  The  meeting  of  hearts."  (A 
schoolboy  will  probably  say  :  "  Wlien  hearts  are 
together,"  which  is  perhaps  better  still.)  And 
thus  an  example  shows  the  development  of  ab- 
stract from  concrete  conceptions.  Following  on 
this,  like  a  ricochet,  comes  my  question  :  "  How 
does  Russian  express  this  ?  "  And  the  boy,  for  the 
first  time  in  his  life,  will  begin  to  reflect  on  the 
word  "  soglasiy^."  He  will  see  in  a  moment  that 
the  word  means,  strictly  speaking,  "  the  union  of 
voices  "  ;   and  a  further  point  will  ])robably  occur 


I' 


to  him  at  the  same  time — namely,  that  Latin  in 
this  particular  instance  expresses  perhaps  more 
depth  and  feeling  than  the  Russian.  Try  and 
obtain  the  same  results  with  the  French  word 
"  Concorde."  A  boy  will  hardly  recognise  in  it 
the  word  "  cceur  "  at  all.  Or  take  the  German 
"  Eintracht."  He  will  fail  to  understand  this 
word,  even  though  it  be  explained  to  him  that 
"  tracht  "  comes  from  "  tragen." 

The  fourth  point  in  which  classical  Semasiology 
is  valuable  for  us  may  be  inferred  from  Prince 
Vyazemski's  words,  which  apply  to  the  classical 
languages  above  all  others,  chiefly  because  they — 
and  more  especially  Greek — developed  of  them- 
selves without  being  influenced  by  other  languages. 
I  lay  particular  stress  upon  this  point.  Greek  is 
quite  an  irreplaceable  language  for  us,  simply  be- 
cause it  has  developed  independently.  That  does 
not  mean,  of  course,  that  no  foreign  words  what- 
ever are  to  be  found  in  Greek.  Certainly  there 
are  some,  mainly  of  Phoenician  origin.  They  are, 
however,  not  only  very  few,  but  they  have  refer- 
ence only  to  the  foreign  world  and  do  not  at  all 
affect  the  spirit  of  the  people.  Nor  do  I  speak 
here  altogether  of  foreign  words  in  the  strict  sense 
of  the  term.  These  bear  an  obvious  mark  of  their 
foreign  origin,  and  being  more  or  less  easily  recog- 
nised, cannot  mislead  anybody.  No,  I  mean  such 
as  have  been  translated  from  a  foreign  tongue 
into  Greek,  and  so  have  found  their  way  into  the 
language  by  a  purely  external  process,  without 
having  passed  through  the  forge  of  popular  con- 


6o 


Our  Debt  to  Antiquity 


sciousness.  You  will  easily  perceive  that  the 
greater  the  percentage  of  such  words  in  a  language, 
the  less  does  that  language  reflect  the  conscious- 
ness of  the  people  who  speak  it.  Now,  such  words 
do  not  exist  in  Greek.  Hence  the  entire  Greek 
language,  as  it  is,  presents  us  with  a  reflection  of 
the  mind  of  the  Greek  people,  so  that,  even  had 
all  Greek  literature  perished,  we  could  restore  a 
picture  of  this  mind  by  the  aid  merely  of  a  Greek 
dictionary.  Modern  languages,  on  the  other  hand, 
including  Russian,  offer  no  such  possibilities. 
Indeed,  Russian  in  particular  contains  such  a 
number  of  these  translated  words  that  not  merely 
the  educated  classes,  but  even  the  most  ignorant 
peasants,  cannot  talk  straight  from  the  heart  and 
conscience  without  them.  For  example,  consider 
this  very  word  "  conscience."*  Can  the  common 
people,  can  we,  the  educated  classes,  manage  with- 
out it  ?  Obviously  not.  But  can  we  say  that  this 
word  is  the  product  of  the  national  consciousness, 
or  a  fragment  of  the  confession  of  the  Russian 
people  ?  No,  gentlemen  !  This  word  did  not  grow 
up  out  of  the  consciousness  of  the  Russian  people. 
What  makes  up  the  word  "  s6viest  "  ?  Let  us 
analyse  it :  "  viest  "  comes  from  "  viedaiyu," 
I  know."  ''  S6viest,"  then,  from  "  so- viedaiyu," 
I  know  with  "  ?  But  we  have  no  such  word  or 
phrase.     We  do  not  use  the  preposition   "so," 

*  Just  as  the  word  "gewissen"  (=  "mitwissen")  was 
added  by  Notker  Labeo  to  the  German  vocabulary,  as 
a  literal  translation  of  the  Latin  word  "  conscientia." 
so  the  Russian  word  "soviest"  goes  back  to  the  word 
avveibyiat^  found  in  the  New  Testament. 


(( 


ft 


Our  Debt  to  Antiquity 


6i 


*'  with,"  in  this  connection  at  all.  We  say,  "  I  do 
not  know  sin  behind  myself,"  and  not  "  I  do  not 
know  sin  with  myself."  How,  then,  has  the  word 
appeared  in  Russian  ?  By  a  purely  literary  pro- 
cess, through  a  translation  of  the  Greek  word 
(TwctSr^oris  (Latin,  "  conscientia "),  which  occurs 
several  times  in  the  New  Testament.  But  the 
word  o-vi^ciSi^o-is  is  a  purely  Greek  word  and  con- 
ception. In  Greek  it  is  perfectly  natural  to  say 
OT^votSa  c/xairro)  KaKov  Ti  Troi^cravTt,  "  I  know  in 
common  with  myself  as  with  one  who  has  done 
wrong."  Do  you  understand  what  these  words 
signify  ?  This  :  When  you  did  wrong,  you  took 
every  precaution  to  hide  it.  You  hid  it  from  your 
fellow-men,  and  perhaps  from  the  gods  also.  But 
do  not  comfort  yourself  with  the  idea  that  there 
are  no  witnesses.  There  is  one  who  knows  your 
deed  "in  common  with **  yourself,  and  that  one  is 
yourself,  the  divine  principle  of  your  soul.  From 
this  witness  you  can  never  escape  as  long  as  you 
live.  For — I  continue  in  iEschylus's  words — "  in 
the  night,  in  place  of  sleep,  mindful  care  knocks 
at  the  window  of  your  heart,  and  even  against 
your  will  you  learn  to  be  righteous."  Man's  mind 
is  thus  twofold  :  one  portion,  the  earthly,  defiles 
itself  with  sin  ;  the  other,  the  divine,  becomes 
the  stern  witness  and  judge  of  the  first.  This 
second  portion,  which  "  knows  in  common  with  " 
ourselves,  is  our  conscience.  There  you  have 
again  a  particle  of  a  people's  confession.  Yes, 
but  it  is  a  confession  of  the  Greek  people,  forming 
one  whole  with  the  teachings  of  iEschylus  and  of 


62 


Our  Debt  to  Antiquity 


Plato,  and  not  of  the  Russian  people,  who  have 
adopted  this  word  by  a  literal  translation  from 
the  Greek.  And  we  Russians  possess  plenty  of 
such  "  translated "  words ;  and  they  must  be 
known  if  we  would  avoid  ascribing  to  the  soul  of 
the  Russian  people  that  to  which  it  has  no  claim. 
The  conclusion  to  be  drawn  is  clear.  Paradoxical 
as  it  may  seem,  it  is  indispensable  to  know  Greek 
in  order  to  know  Russian.  Whoever  clamours  for 
the  suppression  of  Greek  and  the  strengthening 
of  Russian  at  its  expense  proves  by  his  very  de- 
mand that  he  himself  does  not  know  the  Russian 
language,  its  past,  its  soul. 

^However,  the  importance  of  Greek  for  the  proper 
understanding  of  Russian  is  merely  a  side-issue. 
Our  immediate  theme  is  a  different  one — namely, 
the  supreme  importance  of  the  classical  languages 
as  full  and  complete  expressions  of  the  souls  of 
the  peoples  who  spoke  them.  But  Prince  Vya- 
zemski  refers  not  merely  to  the  soul.  "  Its  soul 
and  its  peculiar  life,"  says  the  last  verse  of  those 
which  I  quoted.  You  may  ask  :  "  How  does  a 
nation's  peculiar  life  fit  in  here  ?  "  Well,  I  shall 
explain  this  also  by  an  example. 

You  all  know  the  word  rivalis,  which  has  passed 
into  the  French  as  well.  It  means  "  a  rival." 
But  have  you  ever  realised  how  the  word  came  by 
this  meaning  ?  A  boy  in  the  lowest  forms  knows  its 
derivation  :  socialis  from  socius,  rivalis  from  rivus.* 

*  This  derivation  is  called  in  question.  See  Walde, 
"  Lateinisch  -  etymologischer  Worterbuch,"  s.v.  The 
Romans,  however,  accepted  it,  though  it  may  have  been 
due  to  f)opular  etymology. 


Our  Debt  to  Antiquity 


63 


Of  course ;  but  rivus  means  "  a  stream,"  so 
how  did  its  derivative  rivalis  come  to  mean 
"  rival  "  ?  It  was  in  this  way.  In  Italy,  where 
heavy  rain  falls  only  rarely  in  the  hot  season,  a 
system  of  artificial  irrigation  was  employed  in 
quite  early  times.  The  water  of  a  stream  or  spring 
was  drawn  off  by  a  canal,  a  rivus ;  ditches  were 
connected  with  this  canal  and  traversed  the  fields 
and  meadows  which  had  to  be  watered.  The 
water  was  directed  into  these  from  the  main  canal 
by  drawing  up  a  hatch.  When  the  earth  had  im- 
bibed enough  moisture  the  hatch  was  closed : 
"  Claudite  iam  rivos,  pueri,  sat  prata  biberunt," 
says  the  herd  in  Vergil.  Now  you  will  easily 
understand  that  this  water  was  prized  highly  in 
periods  of  drought.  If  a  peasant  on  the  slope 
above  took  too  much  water,  his  neighbour  on  the 
lower  level  would  have  too  little.  Hence  arose 
frequent  quarrels  between  the  neighbours  on  the 
canals,  the  rivales.  This  is  the  original  mean- 
ing of  the  word,  and  the  Roman  jurists  employ 
it  in  this  sense.  Now,  these  disputes,  this  rivalry 
between  the  rivales,  did  not  always  remain  con- 
fined to  actions  in  civil  law.  There  were  also 
much  more  serious  cases.  Heavy  rainfalls  caused 
the  canal,  which  received  its  waters  from  the  hill 
springs,  to  rise  in  flood.  Its  waves  burst  forth 
tumultuously  through  the  confining  dams.  Still  a 
little,  and  it  will  reach  the  edge  of  our  peasant's 
dam,  or  burst  through  it,  deluge  his  fields,  sweep 
away  his  cottage  and  ruin  him  .  .  .  unless  only 
it  should  break  ere  that   into  the  fields  of  his 


64 


Our  Debt  to  Antiquity 


neighbour  on  the  other  side  of  the  canal  and 
bring  destruction  to  him.  "  Tua  mors,  mea  vita." 
And  so  then  he  shnks  off  in  the  night  ;  armed  with 
his  spade  he  creeps  up  to  his  neighbour's  dam  to 
break  it  through  and  let  loose  the  fatal  flood  on 
the  other's  meadows  gardens  and  buildings.  But 
his  neighbour  is  no  more  asleep  than  he.  Scarcely 
have  the  first  strokes  of  the  spade  sounded  when 
the  whole  household  assembles.  Clubs,  stones, 
and  knives  are  caught  up.  A  sanguinary  conflict 
ensues — and  between  whom  ?  Between  the  ri vales. 
Now  do  you  catch  the  process  of  change  in  mean- 
ing ?  Thus  the  **  peculiar  life  "  of  the  people 
reflects  itself  in  the  treasure-house  of  the  language 
which  it  has  created. 

Now  let  us  turn  once  again  to  the  spirit  of  the 
people.  This  question  is  so  interesting  and  im- 
portant that  I  should  like  to  illustrate  it  by  a 
few  other  examples.  What  is  the  meaning  of 
potens  ?  **  Powerful."  And  of  impotens  ?  Rarely 
"  weak  "  ;  more  commonly  "  passionate  "  or  "  un- 
controlled." Now,  in  this  you  have  the  confes- 
sion of  a  people  who  saw  strength  in  reason  and 
identified  unreasonable  passion  with  weakness. 
Again,  Tr/aacro-o),  **  I  do  "  ;    cv  irpda-a-u),  "  I  do  well," 

and  then,  "  I  am  happy."  Here  we  have  the 
germ  of  the  Greek  popular  consciousness  from 
which,  later  on,  in  direct  continuation  the  moral 
philosophy  of  Socrates  sprung,  with  its  prin- 
ciple that  virtue — that  is  to  say,  right  conduct 
— is  the  necessary  condition  for  ha])piness  ;  and, 
still  later,   the  Stoic  ethics,   which  taught  that 


Our  Debt  to  Antiquity 


65 


virtue  by  itself  makes  a  man  happy.  Consider 
next  yiyvuxTKbi,  "  I  recognise  "  or  "  understand." 
Now,  (Tvyyiyvwo-KO)  means,  properly  speaking,  "I 
understand  together  with,"  then  **  I  pardon." 
What  do  you  make  of  that  ?  It  implies  nothing 
else  than  "  tout  comprendre,  c'est  tout  pardonner." 
This  humane  principle,  which  sheds  a  lustre  over 
the  name  of  Madame  de  Stael,  was  recognised  long 
before  her  time  by  the  consciousness  of  the  Greek 
people.  But  when  a  Christian  prays  to  his  God 
for  forgiveness  of  sin,  he  cannot  say  to  Him  : 
**  Understand  them  together  with  me."  So  in 
the  Lord's  prayer  we  find  not  the  word  o-vyyvw^t, 
but  a</>€s — dimitte  nobis  peccata  nostra,  "  Send  away 
from  us  our  sins."  The  word  "  dimitte,"  it  is  true, 
has  been  ousted  by  the  Italian  "perdona,"  which 
remains  down  to  the  present  day,  but  has  the 
same  signification  :  "  give  me  beyond  my  deserts." 
I  have  given  this  last  instance  in  view  of  the  fifth 
reason  for  which  we  must  value  classical  semasi- 
ology. This  is  because,  thanks  to  it,  we  can  enjoy 
a  series  of  historical  perspectives  in  miniature. 
These  are  both  intrinsically  interesting  and  valu- 
able, and  also  encourage  the  historical  spirit  in 
the  scholar's  mind,  that  special  mark  of  modern 
science  which  has  bestowed  the  name  "  saeculum 
historicum  "  on  the  past  nineteenth  century. 

If  we  now  reckon  up  all  the  advantages  which 
we  have  indicated,  we  must  confess  that  they  far 
outweigh  the  time  taken  up  by  the  study  of 
classical  semasiology.  I  at  least  know  from  my 
own  experience  that  this  method  can  produce  the 

F 


66 


Our  Debt  to  Antiquity 


deepest  impression  on  pupils,  calling  into  play, 
as  it  does,  not  merely  thought,  but  feeling  as  well. 

We  have  now  fared  happily  through  two  divi- 
sions of  the  "  barren  steppe  of  the  ancient  lan- 
guages." One  has  yet  to  come — the  syntax. 
Many  consider  this  the  most  terrible  division  of 
the  three.  The  expression  "  intellectual  gymnas- 
tics "  is  levelled  against  it  especially.  Our  oppo- 
nents apply  this  term  to  a  feature  selected  as  a 
favourite  target  of  the  jeers  that  they  make  do 
duty  for  arguments.  Pray  allow  me  to  set  against 
their  opinion  the  judgment  of  a  man  who  as  a 
thinker  possessed  a  knowledge  of  the  process  of 
thought,  and  as  the  father  of  modern  psychology 
must  be  held  an  authority  in  the  psychological 
questions  which  for  the  moment  interest  us — 
namely,  Schopenhauer.  In  his  treatise  on  lan- 
guages and  words*  he  says  :  "In  translating  into 
Latin  we  must  denude  the  thought  of  the  words 
which  express  it  in  the  modern  language.  It  must 
appear  naked  in  our  consciousness,  like  spirit  with- 
out body  ;  and  then  we  must  give  it  a  completely 
new  body  of  Latin  words.  These  reproduce  the 
original  in  a  completely  different  form.  What 
was,  for  example,  expressed  by  substantives  is 
now  expressed  by  verbs,  and  so  on.  It  is  the 
employment  of  such  a  process  of  metempsychosis 
which  develops  real  thought.  It  presents  the  same 
features  as  the  status  nascens  in  Chemistry. 
While  a  simple  substance  (Stoff)  is  leaving  one 


•  << 


Uber  Sprache  und  Worte,"  §  299. 


Our  Debt  to  Antiquity 


67 


combination  to  connect  itself  with  another,  it 
manifests  during  this  transition  a  special  and 
pecuHar  force  and  activity.  Similarly  with  the 
naked  thought  in  its  transition  from  one  language 
into  another.  That  consequently  is  the  reason 
why  the  classical  languages  develop  directly  and 
strengthen  the  intellect.'*  And  this  is  the  reason, 
I  may  add,  why  Fouill6e  could  say  with  good 
reason:  ''Chaque  le^on  de  Latin  est  une  le^on 
de  logique."  In  this  he  had  in  view  a  lesson  of 
Latin  syntax  especially,  but  he  might  have  con- 
fidently referred  to  Greek  as  well. 

We  shall  have  to  return  to  Schopenhauer's 
views.  For  the  moment  let  us  notice  that  they 
touch  merely  one  aspect  of  the  subject.  The 
second  aspect,  no  less  important  than  the  first, 
lies  in  the  fact  that  a  lesson  of  Latin  or  Greek 
syntax  is  a  lesson  in  Russian  as  well.  Let  me  take 
an  example.  In  running  through  the  Greek  syntax 
I  give  my  scholars  the  following  two  sentences  to 
translate  :  firstly,  ''  He  frequently  prayed  that  he 
might  be  considered  pious  "  ;  and  secondly,  "  I 
pray  God  that  He  may  soften  the  heart  of  my 
angry  mother."  The  constructions  are  quite 
identical — two  final  sentences,  a  prayer  '*  that 
.  .  .  ."  But  in  Greek  they  will  be  translated 
differently.  In  the  first  case  we  must  use  the 
conjunction  Iva  with  the  optative ;  in  the 
second  the  infinitive  without  any  conjunction. 
Why  this  difference  ?  Because  logic  demands  it. 
In  the  former  sentence  the  expression  "  that  he 
might  be  considered  pious  "  is  merely  the  object 


6^ 


Our  Debt  to  Antiquity 


of  the  prayer  and  nothing  else.  In  the  latter, 
however,  it  is  not  merely  the  object,  but  the  tenor 
also.  Nekrassoff's  peasant  actually  used  the 
words :  "  God  soften  the  heart  of  my  angry 
mother  "  ;  whereas  the  tenor  of  the  hypocrite's 
prayer  is  unknown,  and  indeed  unimportant.  Now, 
what  do  you  think  ?  Have  I  in  this  instance 
taught  my  pupils  nothing  but  Greek  syntax,  or 
have  I  forced  them  to  consider  consciously  the 
syntactical  phenomena  in  Russian  as  well  ?  But, 
it  may  be  retorted,  the  same  goal  is  attainable 
without  Greek  syntax.  Go  systematically  with 
your  pupils  through  Russian  syntax ;  illustrate 
by  apt  examples  the  different  logical  categories 
embodied  in  corresponding  grammatical  cate- 
gories— and  the  thing  is  done  !  My  answer  is — 
no  ;  in  this  way  the  thing  is  not  done  !  The  pupil 
does  not  need  to  master  any  such  fine  points  in 
Russian  syntax  to  be  able  to  understand  Nekras- 
soff,  who  can  hardly  have  known  them  himself. 
Yet  he  must  know  them  to  be  able  to  translate 
properly  into  Greek  or  Latin  phrases  similar  to 
the  two  cited  above.  But  notoriously  the  most 
effectual  educational  artifice  is  the  following :  if 
any  object  which  you  have  proposed  as  an  end 
to  your  pupils  fails  to  interest  them  by  itself,  you 
will  only  attain  to  it  by  making  it  a  means  to 
another  end. 

Generally  speaking,  syntax,  as  well  as  the  other 
parts  of  grammar,  should  be  studied  just  in  the 
classical  languages  and  not  in  Russian — and  for 
the  following  reasons. 


Our  Debt  to  Antiquity 


69 


The  first  reason  is  that  it  is  precisely  in  the 
ancient  languages,  and  not  in  Russian,  that  syntax 
grew  up  and  developed.  It  sits  on  Russian, 
accordingly,  like  a  stolen  cloak.  How  convenient 
are  the  grammatical  categories  in  the  Latin  phrase 
mihi  pecunia  deest,  and  how  unadaptable  in  the 
corresponding  Russian  expression,  "  with  me  not 
of  money  !  "  How  will  you  explain  to  a  boy  where 
the  subject  is  here,  and  where  the  predicate  ? 
The  Roman  said  grando  laedit  segetem ;  the 
Russian  says,  "  with  hail  lays  waste  the  crops  " — 
what  is  the  subject  ?  The  Roman  wishes  to  sleep, 
to  the  Russian  it  is  wished  to  sleep.  Everywhere 
one  sees  the  difference  between  the  intellectual 
character  of  the  classical  languages  and  the 
sensuous  nature  of  Russian.  And  indeed  every- 
body, I  suppose,  knows  what  a  fruitless  occupa- 
tion are  those  grammatical  analyses  of  Russian 
sentences,  just  because  of  the  constant  deviations 
of  the  living  speech  from  grammatical  forms. 

Yes,  gentlemen,  Russian  is,  comparatively 
speaking,  quite  ungrammatical.  Had  it  not  been 
for  the  ancient  languages  from  which  the  Russian 
grammar  was  borrowed,  it  would  probably  have 
simply  remained  without  grammar.  Perhaps 
many  of  you  would  not  consider  that  a  great  loss  ; 
grammar  is  not  a  special  favourite  with  schoolboys. 
But  it  is  not  sympathies  or  antipathies  that  we 
must  consider.  No  one  can  deny  that  grammar 
is  the  first  essay  of  logic  applied  to  the  phenomena 
of  language,  and  that  this  fact  constitutes  the 
importance  of  grammar  for  educational  purposes. 


JO 


Our  Debt  to  Antiquity 


Now  in  syntax  Russian  is  far  less  logical  than  the 
ancient  languages  for  the  same  reason  that  makes 
it  etymologically  far  less  intellectual.  It  can  be 
appreciated  more  readily  from  the  psychological 
than  from  the  logical  point  of  view.  Who  knows 
but  that  if  Russian  had  been  left  to  itself  we  should 
have  a  psychological  instead  of  the  logical  grammar 
that  is  in  use  at  present,  and  employ  in  analyses 
of  syntax  not  the  terms  "  subject,"  *'  predicate," 
"  principal  sentence,"  etc.,  but  expressions  like 
"  leading  idea,"  ''  secondary  idea,"  "  closed  struc- 
ture," "  open  structure,"  "  associative  element," 
and  so  on  !  Of  course,  it  is  difficult  to  draw  a 
detailed  picture  ;  the  psychology  of  syntax  is  still 
in  its  veriest  infancy.  It  promises  to  be  an  in- 
teresting science,  but  for  educational  purposes  it 
cannot  compare  with  the  logical  syntax  which 
has  been  already  duly  tried.  This  latter  is  not  a 
very  tasty  nourishment,  but  it  is  very  healthy, 
and  schools  have  full  reason  for  prizing  it  and 
accordingly  the  ancient  languages  as  well,  from 
which,  as  I  have  said,  it  is  most  naturally  derived. 

Thus  the  superiority  which  the  classical  lan- 
guages possess  in  regard  to  grammar  forms  the 
first  reason  why  grammar  itself,  and  syntax  in 
particular,  should  be  studied  just  in  them. 

The  second  and  perhaps  the  principal  reason  is 
the  entire  purposelessness  of  grammar  in  the 
associative  method  of  learning  languages.  The 
pupil  is,  of  course,  perfectly  well  aware  that  his 
making  an  etymological  or  syntactical  analysis  of 
a  given  extract  does  not  cause  him  to  understand 


Our  Debt  to  Antiquity 


n 


it  an  iota  better  than  he  understood  it  before. 
Consequently  these  exercises  leave  no  traces  what- 
soever on  his  intellectual  development.  On  the 
other  hand,  in  translating  from  Latin  or  Greek  into 
Russian,  one  must  ask  oneself  at  almost  every 
phrase :  Where  is  the  subject  ?  Where  is  the 
predicate  ?  What  does  ut  express  here — conse- 
quence or  purpose  ?  And  so  on.  Here  grammatical 
analysis  does  really  seem  a  means  to  the  under- 
standing of  the  text,  and  not  an  end  in  itself. 
Here,  accordingly,  it  is  both  inteUigible  and 
profitable. 

And  now,  before  I  finish  with  syntax  and  gram- 
mar generally,  I  must  observe  that  in  my  opinion 
our  grammatical  handbooks  in  both  Greek  and 
Latin  need  reform.  This  is  not  the  place  to  speak 
about  that  reform  ;  so  I  confine  myself  to  the 
remark  that  the  reformer's  aim  should  be  not  so 
much  their  abbreviation,  the  throwing  overboard 
their  so-called  ballast,  as  their  adaptation  to  the 
educational  end  of  the  mastery  of  the  ancient 
languages.  The  grammarian  should  give  promi- 
nence to  and  develop  that  part  of  his  material 
which  is  valuable  for  logical  and  psychological 
reasons.  As  far  as  possible,  he  should  lighten  the 
process  of  learning  matter  which  has  no  value  in 
itself  and  yet  is  necessary  for  the  understanding 
of  the  classical  texts.  He  should  eliminate  what- 
ever is  unnecessary  in  both  these  respects. 


I  now  continue. 

Next  to  the  syntax  of  a  language  comes  the 


7'2' 


Our  Debt  to  Antiquity 


Our  Debt  to  Antiquity 


n 


style.    The  study  of  style  does  not  form  an  edu- 
cational course  by  itself,  yet  it  claims  consideration 
indirectly  through  its  connection  with  translations 
made  from  and  into  the  classical  languages.    Style 
thus  holds  a  middle  position  between  grammar, 
on  the  one  hand,  and  the  study  of  literature  on 
the  other.    What  are  we  to  say  about  it  ?    The 
opinion  of  Schopenhauer  which  I  quoted  is  just  as 
applicable  to  style  as  to  syntax,  if  not  more  so. 
If  I  translate  the  sentence,   "  Hannibalem  con- 
specta  moenia  ab  oppugnanda  Neapoli  deterrue- 
runt "    by    "  the   sight    of   the   walls   frightened 
Hannibal  from  attempting  the  siege  of  Naples," 
I  may  call  this  a  literary  translation  as  contrasted 
with  the  literal  and  impossible  one,   "  the  seen 
walls  frightened  Hannibal  from  the  having- to- be 
besieged  Naples."     With  the  former  rendering  I 
gain,  firstly,  the  conviction  that  over  and  above 
the  mere  substantives  and  verbs  stand  conceptions 
which  in  themselves  are  neither  the  one  nor  the 
other,    though    they    are    necessarily    expressed, 
owing  to  the  stylistic  peculiarities  of  the  language 
which  we  happen  to  be  using,  sometimes  by  the 
one  and  sometimes  by  the  other.    That  is  to  say, 
I  learn  to  distinguish  the  conceptions  from  the 
words  in  which  they  are  expressed.     Now,  this 
lesson  is  an  indispensable  preliminary  for  philo- 
sophical thought,   since,   as   Friedrich   Nietzsche 
aptly  remarked,   "  Every  single  word  is  a  pre- 
conceived judgment." 

In  the  second  place  such  instances  teach  me  to 
mark  those  stylistic  peculiarities  themselves  to 


^ 


which  I  have  just  alluded.  I  discover  by  experi- 
ence what  is  peculiar  to  Russian  and  what  is  not. 
Similarly  with  Latin.  And  of  the  unique  character 
of  Latin  in  this  respect  any  one  may  convince  him- 
self by  taking  the  trouble  to  translate  the  sen- 
tence which  I  quoted  into  any  modern  language. 
"  L'aspect  des  murs,"  "  der  Anblick  der  Mauern." 
Everywhere  substantives,  just  as  in  Russian. 
Latin,  with  its  verbs,  is  unique  ;  even  Greek  says 
ttJs  TToXio/DKias  instead  of  "  oppugnanda."  And 
pray  do  not  think  that  this  remarkable  preference 
assigned  in  Latin  to  verbs  is  a  peculiarity  of  the 
grammar  alone.  No,  it  corresponds  with  the  very 
process  of  thought  in  the  Roman  mind,  which  was 
of  a  practical  and  not  of  a  theoretical  or  "  sub- 
stantial "  character,  and  found  its  fullest  expres- 
sion in  the  Roman  religion.  As  far  as  Roman 
religion  was  genuinely  Roman,  it  was  founded  on 
the  deification  of  actions,  and  in  this  sense  it  may 
be  called  an  "  actual "  or  practical  rather  than  a 
"  substantial  "  or  theoretical  religion.  Who  would 
have  imagined  that  between  two  such  different 
things  as  grammar  and  religion  there  could  be  so 
intimate  a  connection  ?  And  yet  this  is  so,  and 
the  very  fact  proves  once  again  the  correctness  of 
the  phrase,  which  I  have  quoted  so  often,  "  Lan- 
guage is  the  confession  of  the  people." 

That  is  the  first  point.  If,  however,  in  this 
respect  Latin,  and  I  may  add  Greek  also,  affords 
a  means  for  theoretical  mastery  of  language  and 
of  languages  in  general,  in  another  respect  it  may 
fairly  be  called  a  training  school  for  the  practical 


74 


Our  Debt  to  Antiquity 


Our  Debt  to  Antiquity 


75 


improvement  of  literary  style.  I  must  emphasise 
the  fact  that  we  are  here  on  the  firm  ground  of 
historical  experience.  As  I  have  remarked  already, 
it  was  precisely  the  Latin  language  on  which  the 
peoples  of  the  West  built  and  developed  their 
literary  prose  by  dint  of  hard  study  and  conscious 
imitation.  Even  Russian  literary  prose  style,  as 
far  as  we  may  be  said  to  possess  it,  is  the  result 
of  the  vigorous  training  undergone  by  our  lan- 
guage in  the  pseudo-classical  period.  We  possess 
it,  however,  only  to  a  very  hmited  degree.  It  may 
truly  be  maintained  that  the  Russian  language  is 
still  far  from  being  fully  developed,  and  has  not 
yet  found  an  artistic  form  to  correspond  to  its 
native  strength  and  fiexibihty.  But  you  may  ask 
what  were  the  special  pecuharities  in  virtue  of 
which  Latin  was,  and  still  may  be,  a  teacher  of 
style  for  us.  I  shall  try  in  this  instance  also  to 
give  you  as  clear  and  short  a  reply  as  is  possible ; 
and  so  I  choose  from  the  many  characteristics  of 
Latin  style  one  which  is  specially  prominent— 
namely,  the  period. 

In  considering  the  period,  I  beg  you  first  of  all 
to  rid  your  minds  of  one  prejudice.  If  you  think 
that  it  serves  merely  as  the  expression  of  a  luxu- 
riant style,  or  that  it  is  a  mere  solemn  peal,  with 
more  sound  than  sense,  you  are  completely  mis- 
taken. No,  the  period  offers  to  the  thinker  the 
necessary  spacious  unity  for  his  thoughts.  This 
is  due  to  the  complex  mutual  gravitation  of  the 
parts  and,  if  I  may  use  the  expression,  of  the  atoms 
of  reflection  which  interest  the  writer's  mind  in 


i\ 


any  given  case.  The  period  is,  indeed,  a  living 
organism,  with  an  extremely  definite  subordination 
of  its  more  important  by-sentences  to  the  principal 
sentence,  and  of  the  by-clauses  of  secondary  to 
those  of  primary  importance.  Without  this  large 
unity  the  building  up  of  an  argument  would  be  as 
difficult  as  complicated  algebraic  calculations 
would  be  but  for  the  brackets.  To  gain  this  end 
the  period  must  be  perfectly  lucid,  and  this 
lucidity  is  obtained  through  manifold  variations 
in  all  its  subordinate  parts.  There  are  three  grades 
of  subordination :  main  sentences,  full  by- 
sentences,  and  abbreviated  by-sentences.  The 
two  first  are  common  to  the  languages  of  all 
civilised  peoples.  But  the  perfection  of  language 
in  regard  to  the  formation  of  periods  depends  upon 
the  presence  and  prevalence  of  the  third  grade — 
namely,  the  abbreviated  by-sentences.  In  this 
respect  German  is  the  least  perfect  language  of  all 
those  akin  to  our  own.  German,  in  fact,  is  a  two- 
grade  language,  and  scarcely  permits  the  abbre- 
viated by-sentence.  The  Russian  sentence,  "  a 
man  having  never  learnt,"  cannot  be  reproduced 
in  German  by  an  abbreviated  by-sentence  :  ''  ein 
Mensch  nie  gelernt  habender."  A  full  relative 
clause  is  necessary  :  "  ein  Mensch,  der  nie  gelernt 
hat."  The  Romance  languages  stand  on  a  some- 
what higher  level ;  they  permit  the  abbreviation 
of  certain  sentences,  expressive  of  attendant  cir- 
cumstances, chiefly  by  means  of  "gerundial"  con- 
structions, "  ayant  appris,"  and  so  on.  This  per- 
mission, however,  is  not  extended  to  relative  and 


76 


Our  Debt  to  Antiquity 


noun  clauses.    The  Russian  language  stands  higher 
still.     It  sanctions  abbreviations  of  certain  sen- 
tences denoting  attendant  circumstances  by  means 
of  "gerundiar*  constructions,  and  of  nearly  all 
relative    sentences    by  participial    constructions. 
The  abbreviation  of  noun  clauses,  however,  is  no 
more  permissible  in  Russian  than  in  the  Romance 
languages.    The  highest  grade  is  attained  by  the 
two  classical  languages  ;  they  abbreviate  not  only 
the  sentences  denoting  attendant  circumstances- 
Greek  abbreviates  all,  Latin  only  some— but  also 
the  relative  sentences,   and  this  not   merely  in 
cases  where  the  subject  is  the  same  as  in  the 
principal  sentence,  but  even  where  the  subjects 
are  different.    This  is  effected  by  the  aid  of  the 
so-called  ablative  or  genitive  absolute.    The  noun 
clauses  also  are  abbreviated  by  means  of  the  ac- 
cusative and  infinitive  construction.    Thus,  then, 
the  classical  languages,  disposing  as  they  do  of  all 
three  grades,  are  the  most  perfect  in  the  period 
formation,    and    of    modern    languages    Russian 
approaches  them  most  nearly. 

But  the  advantages  with  which  Nature  itself 
has  endowed  the  Russian  language  remain  for  the 
most  part  unexploited.  The  classical  languages 
unfortunately  have  played  no  directly  educative 
part  in  modern  times  in  regard  to  Russian.  In 
early  Russian  history,  indeed,  Greek  was,  as  we 
have  seen,  the  preceptor  of  Russian,  for  which  we 
owe  it  thanks.  It  was  just  during  the  period  of 
its  influence  that  the  strong  points  of  style  native 
to  the  Russian  language  were  forged.    But  I  am 


Our  Debt  to  Antiquity 


77 


speaking  of  the  development  of  our  prose  style  in 
modem  times,  right  up  to  our  own  day.  Only 
think  how  large  a  percentage  of  our  literature, 
using  the  word  in  the  wide  sense,  is  made  up  of 
translations  from  other  languages.  Can  you  be- 
lieve that  these  works  exercise  no  influence  on  our 
own  tongue  ?  Moreover,  these  translations  are 
exclusively  from  French,  German,  and  English ; 
that  is  to  say,  from  languages  which,  as  being  two- 
grade,  stand  on  a  lower  level  as  to  style  than 
Russian.  In  other  respects  they  may  stand  on  a 
higher  level ;  but  that  is  not  the  point  here.  The 
translators,  followed  by  the  reading  public,  grow 
accustomed  to  forego  the  use  of  all  the  stylistic 
excellencies  of  their  mother  tongue.  Thus  they 
lower  it  to  the  level  of  the  language  from  which 
they  are  translating,  and  the  result  is  the  im- 
poverishment of  the  Russian  language.  There  is 
another  destructive  force  at  work  in  the  same 
direction  as  these  translations — namely,  the  un- 
healthy endeavour  to  approximate  the  language 
of  literature  to  the  naturally  slipshod  language  of 
conversation.  And,  indeed,  since  literary  Russian 
has  passed  from  the  hands  of  authors  into  those 
of  journalists,  the  danger  of  its  impoverishment 
has  sensibly  increased. 

I  beg  you,  gentlemen,  to  reflect  seriously  on  the 
considerations  which  I  now  adduce ;  what  I  say 
will  doubtless  be  new  to  many  of  you.  I  implore 
you  not  to  take  upon  their  bare  word  the  com- 
forting assurances  of  my  opponents  who  choose 
to  term  naturalness  what  I  brand  as  impoverish- 


78 


Our  Debt  to  Antiquity 


ment,  and  to  prate  about  the  charm  of  simphcity. 
In  regard  to  naturalness,  we  have  long  ago  got 
rid  of  the  delusion  derived  from  Rousseau— so 
fruitful  in  its  time — which  confounded  naturalness 
with  primitiveness.     We  have  reverted  to  Aris- 
totle's definition,  that  naturalness  is  to  be  sought 
not  in  immaturity,  but  in  maturity.    It  is  the  full 
period  that  is  natural  to  Russian,  which  by  its 
nature  is  a  three-grade  language,   and  not  the 
poverty  of  style  common  to  West  European  Ian- 
guages  and  to  conversation.    And  as  for  the  charm 
of  simplicity,  if  that  captivates  you,  then,  pray, 
give  up  chromatics  in  music  and  go  back  to  the 
seven-stringed  or  even  four-stringed  lyre  ;  give  up 
harmonies  and  declare  the  air  of  "  The  three  Hind 
mice  "  strummed  out  with  one  finger  to  be  the 
acme  of  all  music  !     Renounce  likewise  the  ela- 
borate palette  of  Raphael  or  Rubens,  or,  to  take 
our  own  countrymen,  R6pin  or  Vasnietsoff ;    re- 
turn—as certain  decadents  are  actually  doing— to 
painting  with  four  colours  without  any  shading  ! 
All  that  offers  the  charm  of  simplicity.  .  .  . 

No,  gentlemen  !  In  your  hands  and  in  those  of 
your  contemporaries  lies  the  future  of  your  native 
language.  Do  you  remember  that  in  ancient 
Athens  it  was  deemed  the  solemn  duty  of  every 
citizen  to  bequeath  to  his  son  the  fortune  which 
he  himself  had  received  from  his  father  un- 
diminished or,  if  possible,  augmented  ?  Whoever 
neglected  this  duty  was  said,  in  the  picturesque 
language  of  that  time,  to  have  "  eaten  up  his 
patrimony,"  ra  Trdrpia  KaT€8rj8oK(v,  and  was  de- 


Our  Debt  to  Antiquity 


79 


clared  to  have  forfeited  his  rights.  Reflect  upon 
the  stem  verdict  pronounced  by  modem  France 
in  the  person  of  Taine  against  the  French  Academy 
of  the  seventeenth  century  for  yielding  to  the  cry 
for  simplification  and  permitting  the  impoverish- 
ment of  the  rich  vocabulary  of  Rabelais.  And  do 
you  take  heed  that  your  posterity  shall  never  say 
of  you,  in  regard  to  the  Russian  language,  that 
you  have  devoured  your  patrimony  ! 

Of  course,  I  do  not  mean  you  to  conclude  that 
I  ask  you  to  speak  and  write  in  "  three-graded  " 
periods  everywhere  and  always.  If  I  advise  you 
to  develop  your  physical  strength,  that  does  not 
imply,  surely,  that  you  should  use  both  hands  and 
strain  all  your  might  in  order  to  hand  your  neigh- 
bour a  cup  of  coffee.  No,  my  plea  comes  to  this, 
that  the  educated  Russian  ought  to  understand 
how  to  construct  periods  which  are  at  once  com- 
plex and  clear ;  that  is,  in  cases  where  the  sense 
demands  a  period,  where  it  appears  essential  for 
the  full  logical  and  psychological  expression  of  his 
opinion  or  narrative.  And  it  is  precisely  in  this 
respect  that  classical  study,  if  directed  by  teachers 
who  know  their  business,  is  able  to  render  sub- 
stantial services  to  the  Russian  language.  German 
and  French  prose  are  quite  useless  to  us  owing  to 
their  imperfections  in  the  respects  which  I  have 
indicated.  Classical  prose  alone  constrains  us  in 
the  process  of  translation  to  employ  all  the  strong 
points  of  style  which  Russian  possesses.  It  alone 
can  serve  as  a  training  school  for  our  stylists,  and 
so  preserve  the  Russian  language  from  the  serious 


8o 


Our  Debt  to  Antiquity 


Our  Debt  to  Antiquity 


8l 


and  irreparable  losses  which  threaten  its  exist- 
ence. 

At  this  point,  however,  I  foresee  an  objection 
of  the  following  nature.  How  can  one  expect  to 
derive  any  advantage  from  classical  prose  for 
Russian,  when  these  wonderful  champions  of  the 
classics  themselves  spoil  it  with  their  gems  of 
style  ?  Was  it  not  they  who  created  such  expres- 
sions as  "He  inducted  war  "  or  "He  was  cut  off 
in  respect  to  his  head  "  ? 

This  objection  is  distinctly  out  of  date.  Of 
course,  in  days  when  classical  instruction  was 
entrusted  to  persons  who  knew  Russian  but  im- 
perfectly, you  could  expect  nothing  else.  But  if 
you  leave  such  monstrosities  out  of  account,  what 
does  the  argument  come  to  ?  Classical  teachers 
do  certainly  avail  themselves  occasionally,  for  edu- 
cational purposes,  of  a  literal  translation,  which  I 
may  call  a  working- translation,  on  the  analogy  of 
the  term  working-hypothesis.  Thus,  for  example, 
I  could  not  explain  to  a  pupil  who  is  learning 
Latin,  but  has  not  yet  mastered  it,  the  difference 
in  point  of  style  between  "  Hannibalem  conspecta 
moenia  ab  oppugnanda  Neapoli  deterruerunt " 
and  "  the  sight  of  the  walls  discouraged  Hannibal 
from  an  attempt  to  besiege  Naples  "  in  any  other 
way  than  by  putting  in  parallel  columns  this 
literary  translation  and  the  working-translation — 
namely,  "  the  seen  walls  discouraged  Hannibal 
from  the  having-to-be-besieged  Naples."  Some- 
times the  teacher  asks  the  pupil  for  a  working- 
translation  in  order  to  be  satisfied  that  the  boy 


has  worked  independently,  but  that  is  a  police 
precaution  rather  than  an  educative  measure. 
But  in  all  such  sentences  the  working-translation 
is  nothing  more  than  a  transitional  step  corre- 
sponding to  a  similar  transitional  step  in  the 
process  of  thought.  It  may  happen,  indeed,  that 
a  pupil  gets  no  further  than  this  stage  ;  but  that 
is  the  result  of  laziness  or  carelessness,  which 
ought  not  to  be  tolerated.  Our  working-translation 
serves  the  same  purpose  as  the  negative  in  photo- 
graphy. It  is  just  as  necessary  a  transitional  step, 
and  just  as  little  suitable  to  be  counted  a  final  aim 
or  final  result  of  our  work. 

But,  I  may  be  told,  call  them  negatives  or  what 
you  will,  still  these  ugly  working-translations 
exist,  the  scholar  hears  them,  they  are  echoed 
unconsciously  in  his  style,  and  so  distort  and 
mutilate  it.  No,  I  answer,  they  are  not  echoed 
in  his  style ;  if  you  think  otherwise,  show  me  a 
single  example  where  Russian  has  been  marred 
through  the  influence  of  the  classics.  You  will 
not  find  one.  The  character  of  the  classical  lan- 
guages is  such  that  a  pupil-language  receives  from 
them  only  healthy  elements  tending  to  intellectual 
and  artistic  improvement,  and  unconsciously  dis- 
cards all  that  would  force  it  to  forsake  that 
mounting  path.  Can  we  say  the  same  of  modem 
languages  ?  Ask  the  zealots  for  the  purity  of 
Russian  how  far  they  are  pleased  with  the  inter- 
minghng  of  French  with  Russian,  a  sensible  result 
of  which  is  seen  in  the  celebrated  Nijni- Novgorod 
French  jargon.     I  am  not  speaking  here  of  such 


11 


82 


Our  Debt  to  Antiquity 


Our  Debt  to  Antiquity 


83 


/ 


disgraceful  exhibitions  of  linguistic  stupidity  as 
the  idiotic  proverb,  "  He  is  not  in  his  own  plate/* 
which  Pushkin  stigmatised  long  ago  and  which  is 
still  in  circulation,  a  proverb  which  shows  that  its 
perpetrator  knew  no  other  meaning  of  the  French 
"  assiette  "  than  the  gastronomical  one.  No  ;  let 
us  forbear  to  dwell  on  that  point.  But  what  are 
we  to  say  of  phrases  hke  "  that  event  had  place 
at  such  and  such  a  time,"  "  that  settles  me," 
"  a  bloody  bath,"  "  a  state  shock,"  and  so  on  ? 
Are  they  due  to  the  classics  ?  No.  One  may 
rather  say  that  classical  education,  by  virtue  of 
that  highly  developed  feeling  for  language  which 
it  imparts  to  its  pupils,  teaches  us  to  mark  their 
unnatural  character  and  avoid  them. 

However,  enough  of  style  and  of  languages 
generally  !  Have  I  told  you  everything  and  de- 
veloped all  the  points  touched  on  ?  Far  from  it. 
I  have  not  spoken  of  the  important  fact  that  only 
the  classical  languages  enable  us  to  trace,  so  to 
say,  the  history  of  the  incorporation  of  thought  in 
words.  As  we  pass  from  Homer  to  Herodotus,  and 
thence  to  Thucydides,  Xenophon,  and  Plato,  and 
from  these  to  Demosthenes  and  finally  to  Cicero, 
we  see  how  the  spirit  of  language  struggles  with 
the  material,  how  by  means  of  successive  integra- 
tions of  the  separate  parts  of  language  the  spirit 
introduces  order  and  graduated  subordination  into 
it,  how  it  creates  from  the  isolated  independent 
sentence  of  the  so-called  "threaded"  style  (Ac^i? 
€lpofi€vrj),  the  unified  centralised  period,  much  in 
the  same  way  as  a  unified  centralised  state  is  built 


up  from  various  independent  autonomous  com- 
munities.   All  this  and  much  besides  I  was  forced 
to  omit.    Even  as  it  is,  I  fear  that  I  may  have 
worn  out  your  attention  by  this  lengthy  discourse 
on  language.     But,   gentlemen,   the  disquisition 
was  not  disproportionately  long,  for  you  your- 
selves, as  pupils  of  a  secondary  school,  have  spent 
much  time  in  the  acquisition  of  the  two  classical 
languages.   You  may  be  disposed  to  think  that  you 
have  spent  too  much  time.    Well,  I  have  under- 
taken to  prove  to  you  that,  contrary  to  the  opinion 
of  many,  the  time  which  you  have  spent  in  the 
study  of  the  classics  has  not  been  uselessly  wasted. 
With  this  end  in  view  I  could  not  pass  lightly  over 
the  advantages  which  you  have  gained  from  a 
study  of  the  structure  of  the  ancient  languages  as 
such. 

But,  of  course,  you  were  not  made  to  learn 
Latin  and  Greek  with  a  view  to  these  advantages 
alone.  Their  chief  value  is  that  they  open  a 
direct  entrance  to  ancient  literature,  and  so  lead 
us  indirectly  to  ancient  culture  in  its  widest  sense. 
My  next  object,  therefore,  is  to  elucidate  the  edu- 
cational value  of  ancient  literature,  and  I  have 
devoted  the  following  lecture— my  second  lecture 
to-day — to  this  purpose. 


LECTURE    IV 

IN  passing  from  the  subject  of  the  classical 
languages  to  that  of  ancient  literature  I  feel 
the  pleasant  sensations  of  a  man  who,  but  lately 
proscribed  by  pubhc  opinion,  finds  himself  in- 
vested with,  if  not  all,  at  any  rate  some  of  a 
citizen's  rights.  A  considerable  part  of  the  modern 
world,  even  in  Russia,  recognises  the  importance 
of  the  study  of  classical,  and  especially  of  Greek, 
literature,  only  it  imagines  that  the  original  texts 
are  not  in  the  least  degree  necessary  for  this  pur- 
pose, that  we  may  be  content  with  translations. 

When  I  had  the  honour  to  be  a  member  of  the 
Commission  on  Secondary  Schools,  the  question  of 
improvements  in  the  programme  of  our  "  Modem  " 
schools  was  raised,  and  the  enlightened  supporters 
of  this  most  necessary  and,  indeed,  indispensable 
type  of  schools  expressed  their  desire  that  the 
study  of  classical  literature — of  course,  merely  in 
the  form  of  translations— should  be  added  to  the 
curriculum.  Should  this  idea  be  realised,  the 
difference  between  the  classical  and  the  modern 
school  in  regard  to  our  present  question  would 
consist  mainly  in  this,  that  the  former  would 
acquaint  its  pupils  with  the  same  works  in  the 
original  as  the  boys  in  the  latter  would  peruse  in 

84 


Our  Debt  to  Antiquity 


85 


translations.  Now,  must  we  admit  the  superiority 
of  the  classical  school  in  this  point  of  difference, 
and  if  so,  why  ?  In  other  words,  can  translations 
take  the  place  of  originals,  and  if  not,  what  con- 
stitutes their  inferiority  ?  This  is  a  question  that 
I  cannot  pass  over  in  silence  ;  but  do  not  be  afraid 
that  it  will  divert  us  from  our  subject.  No,  I  am 
convinced,  and  I  hope  to  convince  you  of  the 
truth  of  my  opinion,  that  the  treasures  of  ancient 
literature  may  be  divided  into  those  which  do  not 
suffer  by  translation  and  those  which  are  in- 
separably bound  up  with  the  form  of  the  original. 
Thus  the  answer  to  the  question  just  proposed 
gives  at  the  same  time  one  of  the  characteristics 
of  classical  literature. 

As  you  will  have  seen  from  what  I  have  said, 
I  am  no  implacable  enemy  to  translations.  I  have 
myself  appeared  in  the  role  of  a  translator;  I 
have  published  a  large  volume  which  I  venture 
to  hope  may  occupy  not  the  lowest  place  among 
modern  works  of  this  nature.  And  it  is  precisely 
for  this  reason  that  I  know  what  a  translation  can, 
and  what  it  cannot  reproduce.  Whoever  advises 
you  to  be  satisfied  with  a  translation  instead  of 
the  original  shows  no  more  judgment  than  if  he 
were  to  say  :  "  Why  trouble  to  go  to  the  Con- 
servatorium  to  hear  Beethoven's  or  Tschaikovski's 
symphonies  when  you  can  hear  them  much  more 
comfortably  at  home  from  a  piece  set  for  the 
piano  ?  "  You  know  that  this  is  so,  and  yet  not 
so.  The  piano  setting  certainly  gives  you  some- 
thing, but  not  everything ;   and  the  more  artistic 


86 


Our  Debt  to  Antiquity 


and  profound  any  masterpiece  of  symphony  is, 
the  less  can  it  be  replaced  by  a  piano  setting.  The 
delicacy  of  motive  and  of  form  are  gained  by  a 
bold  use  of  the  peculiar  qualities  of  each  single 
instrument,  and  these  cannot  be  reproduced  by 
the  piano.  That  is  the  case  with  translations  also. 
Take  the  first  words  of  Caesar  :  "  Gallia  est  omnis 
divisa  in  partes  tres,"  "  All  Gaul  is  divided  into 
three  parts."  The  translator  reproduces  the 
original  fully ;  nothing  in  the  Latin  is  omitted. 
Take,  on  the  other  hand,  the  cry  of  Thetis  in 
Homer  when  she  hears  of  the  sad  fate  that  has 
overtaken  her  son  Achilles  :  tS  /xot  Svo-a/Dio-TOTOKcia, 
"  Woe  to  me,  who  have  to  my  sorrow  borne  the 
noblest  hero  in  the  world."  In  this  instance  also 
I  reproduce  all  the  sense  ;  but  in  order  to  give 
the  full  meaning  of  the  single  word  in  the  original 
I  have  had  to  use  no  less  than  twelve,*  and  you 
will  easily  perceive  how  this  watering-down  pro- 
cess weakens  the  force  of  the  original.  Take, 
finally,  Pericles'  characterisation  of  the  Athenians 
in  his  funeral  speech  in  Thucydides  :  <^iA,oKaA.ou/ic»/ 
/xcT^  cvTcActas,  KoX  <t)L\o(To<j>ovfi€v  av€v  fxaXaKias,     The 

translator  throws  up  his  hands  in  despair.  He 
understands,  of  course,  that  the  words  are  applied 
to  a  highly  artistic  nation  fully  capable  of  mark- 
ing the  contrast  between  artistic  beauty  of  form 
and  excessive  richness  of  material,  a  nation  of 
thinkers  strong  enough  to  withstand  the  solvent 
action  of  thought  on  the  wiD.    All  that  he  under- 

*  The  Russian  needs  only  eight ;   in  general,  Russian  is 
distinctly  crisper  than  English. 


Our  Debt  to  Antiquity 


87 


stands,  but  the  task  of  reproducing  these  two 
criticisms  in  the  form  of  an  antithesis  so  terse,  so 
sonorous,  so  apt  as  that  of  Thucydides,  presents 
itself  to  the  conscientious  translator  as  an  utter 
impossibility. 

Thus  we  must  neither  despise  translations  nor 
count  them  adequate  substitutes  for  the  originals. 
Schopenhauer,  speaking  of  classical  literature, 
maintains  that  they  bear  the  same  relation  to  the 
originals  as  chicory  to  coffee  ;  some  one  else  says 
that  they  give  us  only  the  wrong  side  of  the  carpet. 
This  is,  perhaps,  too  strong.  It  would  be  more 
correct  to  say  that  the  character  of  the  ancient 
languages  is  so  peculiar  that  any  translation  from 
a  classical  author  into  a  modern  language  would 
bear  much  the  same  relation  to  the  original  as  a 
wooden  model  of  the  human  body  in  an  anatomical 
museum  bears  to  the  real  body.  Translations  and 
models  aUke  give  us  a  general  idea  of  the  structure 
and  contents  of  the  original,  but  the  more  delicate 
details  are  lacking.  Even  these  models,  however, 
are  of  various  degrees  of  merit.  Some  are  really 
artistic  and  undeniably  useful ;  others,  again,  are 
of  coarse  uncouth  make  and  give  quite  a  distorted 
idea  of  the  original.  The  vast  majority  of  Russian 
translations  are  unfortunately  of  this  class  ;  there 
are  very  few  which  give  even  a  hint  of  the  artistic. 
Well,  and  what  ?  We  must  only  wish  that  it  were 
otherwise  and  do  our  best  to  improve  matters ; 
more  we  cannot  do.  Still,  however  perfect  a 
translation  may  be,  the  rule,  none  the  less,  holds 
good  that  the  classics  can   be  interpreted  and 


88 


Our  Debt  to  Antiquity 


Our  Debt  to  Antiquity 


89 


mastered  in  all  their  branches  only  in  the  original 
texts,  just  as  the  structure  of  the  tissue  of  our 
bodies  can  be  studied  after  nature  alone  and  not 
by  the  aid  of  wooden  models. 

And  yet  this  very  method  of  interpretation  has 
its  usefulness  called  in  question  by  some.  Is  it 
not  really  better,  they  ask,  to  read  ten  books  of 
Livy  in  a  translation  than  one  in  the  original  ? 
You  will  understand  that  I  am  speaking  now  of  the 
so-called  exegetical  method  of  reading  the  classics 
which  is  in  vogue  in  our  secondary  schools.  Does 
this  method  present  any  advantage,  and  if  so, 
what  ? 

At  this  point  I  must,  first  of  all,  bring  before 
you  the  question  of  the  moral  aspect  of  education. 
I  hesitated  long  as  to  whether  I  should  speak  to 
you  about  this  point.  Persons  whose  opinion  I 
value  highly  warned  me  to  refrain,  and  I  must 
admit  myself  that  it  would  have  been  more  pru- 
dent to  follow  their  advice.  But  prudence  is  not 
always  compatible  with  a  service  to  truth,  and  so 
I  resolved,  cost  what  it  might,  to  confide  to  you 
my  own  views  on  this  matter,  for  I  attach  a  very 
great  importance  to  them.  I  hope  that  you  will 
understand  and  appreciate  them  better  than  some 
of  my  former  audiences.  At  any  rate,  I  beg  you 
to  pay  particular  attention  to  what  I  propose  to 
say  to  you. 

What  is,  first  of  all,  meant  by  the  moral  element 
in  education  ? 

Neither  science  nor  a  course  of  teaching  pur- 
sues moral  aims  directly.     Their  object  is  the 


> 


attainment  of  truth,  but  a  knowledge  of  the  truth 
by  itself  does  not  make  a  man  more  moral.    No, 
not  the  knowledge  of  the  truth,  but  the  path 
whereby  that  knowledge  is  attained,  the  effort 
we  make  over  ourselves  to  accept  it — there  is 
where  you  must  find  the  moral  element  of  science 
and  teaching.    You  may  allow  that  the  earth  goes 
round  the  sun— there  is  nothing  moral  in  that ; 
if,  however,  you  were  of  a  different  opinion  to 
begin  with,  and  then  later  on  bowed  before  the 
truth  after  becoming  acquainted  with  your  oppo- 
nents* proofs,  then  that  was  a  moral  achievement. 
The  collision  of  the  truth  with  the  human  mind 
stimulated  one  moral  quality  in  the  latter — namely, 
truthfulness.     "  I  began  by  disputing  with  you, 
but  now  I  see  that  I  was  wrong."     Such  is  the 
motto  of  truthfulness  in  this  case,  and  a  course  of 
teaching  which  produces  such  results  I  venture 
to  call  moral.    This,  then,  constitutes  the  moral 
aspect  of  education.     Bearing  it  in  mind,  let  us 
now   review   the   courses   of   instruction   in   our 
secondary  schools.     I  would  like  you  to  notice 
that  the  relation  of  any  given  course  to  morahty 
may  bear  one  of  three  characteristics  :  favourable, 
unfavourable,    or   indifferent.     A   course   of   in- 
struction  which   improves   and   strengthens   the 
character  is  called  "  moral "  ;    one  which  affects 
character  unfavourably,  "  immoral  "  ;   one  which 
affects  it  in  no  way  at  all,  "  non-moral."     As  I 
have  explained  in  what  sense  I  understand  the 
word  "  morahty  "  here,  I  trust  that  it  will  occa- 
sion no  misunderstandings.    I  request  my  oppo- 


90 


Our  Debt  to  Antiquity 


nents,  if  there  be  any  such  in  this  room,  to  note 
my  explanation  carefully  and  refrain  from  any 
equivoques  about  my  word  "  morahty,"  however 
strongly  they  may  be  tempted  to  indulge  in  them. 

And  so,  what  is  the  relation  between  educa- 
tional subjects  and  morality  ? 

Let  us  begin  with  ancient  literature  studied 
directly  in  the  originals ;  in  fact,  with  what  is 
commonly  called  the  reading  of  the  classics.  I 
put  myself  in  the  teacher's  place  ;  I  have  before 
me  the  text  which  it  is  my  duty  to  expound, 
and,  mark,  each  pupil  also  has  his  text  before  him. 
I  shall  explain  what  this  implies.  By  giving  each 
pupil  the  text,  I  supply  him  at  the  same  time 
with  a  common  field  for  our  observations  and 
investigations.  On  this  field  I  shall  be  guide,  but 
nothing  more.  I  grant  him  both  the  right  and 
opportunities  of  checking  me ;  and  we  are  both 
controlled  by  a  higher  power — namely,  the  truth. 
I  shall  choose  an  example  from  Horace  :  "  Scri- 
bendi  recte  sapere  est  et  principium  et  fons." 

A  dispute  arises  between  a  pupil  and  myself  as 
to  the  word  to  which  recte  is  related.  He  refers 
it  to  scribendi,  and  translates  :  "To  be  wise  : 
that  is  the  first  principle  and  the  source  of  good 
writing."  It  has  struck  me  somehow  that  recte 
goes  closely  with  sapere,  so  that  the  translation 
will  run  :  "To  think  correctly  :  that  is  the  first 
principle  and  the  source  of  writing."  The  pupil 
refuses  to  be  convinced.  "  The  caesura,"  he  ob- 
jects, "  lies  between  recte  and  sapere  and  divides 
them,  so  that  on  this  ground  alone  it  is  more 


I 


Our  Debt  to  Antiquity 


91 


natural  to  connect  recte  with  scribendi.    The  sense 
of  the  passage  also  demands  this  interpretation, 
for  intelligence  is  the  source  not  of  all  writing,  but 
only  of  what  is  good  and  correct."     "That  is 
true,"  I  reply ;    "  but  the  caesura  often  divides 
words  which  are  connected  in  sense  " — ^here  I  cite 
instances — "  so  that  this  consideration  is  of  secon- 
dary importance.    As  for  your  other  plea,  incorrect 
writing,  as  such,  does  not  occur  to  the  poet  to 
discuss."    "  Still,"  rejoins  my  pupil,  ''  it  seems  to 
me  that  my  interpretation  has  more  to  say  for 
itself  than  yours."    "  No,"  I  answer,  "  for  accord- 
ing to  your  version  sapere  has  no  attribute,  which 
it  obviously  needs.     It  is  in  itself  an  indifferent 
word,   signifying   originally    '  to   have   a   certain 
taste,'    compare   sapor   and   French   saveur,   and 
afterwards  coming  to  mean  '  to  have  certain  in- 
tellectual faculties.'     So  to  gain  the  meaning  of 
'  to  be  wise '  it  needs  an  attribute— namely,  the 
word  recte,  which  you  would  separate  from  it." 
"  How,  then,  does  it  come  about,"  asks  my  pupil, 
"  that  the  participle  sapiens,  a  derivative  from 
sapere,  has  the  positive  meaning  of  '  clever  '  and 
not  the  indifferent  signification  of  *  a  person  of 
certain   intellectual  faculties  '  ?  "     "  That   is  no 
proof,"  I  answer,  "  for  the  participles  of  indifferent 
verbs,  which  have  passed  into  the  category  of 
adjectives,    often    assume    a   positive   meaning ; 
thus  from  the  indifferent  word  pati,  '  to  bear '  or 
'  suffer,'  we  get  patiens,  'the  person  who  can  bear 
well,  who  is  patient,  long-suffering.'    And  kindly 
give  me  an  example  where  the  verb  sapere  alone 


92 


Our  Debt  to  Antiquity 


without  an  attribute  has  the  positive  meaning, 
'to  be  wise/"     For  the  moment  my  pupil  is 
silenced,  but  next  lesson  he  brings  forward,  as  an 
example  in  his  favour,   another  quotation  from 
Horace  :    "  Sapere  aude,"    "  Dare   to   be   wise." 
"  Yes,  that  is  the  case,"  I  confess,  "  I  was  wrong." 
I  adduce  this  instance  inasmuch  as  it  was  an  inci- 
dent of  my  own,  now  long  past,  experience  as  a 
young  teacher,  and  also  because  Oscar  Jager,  the 
well-known  German  authority  on  education,  re- 
calls something  similar  in  his  recollections  of  his 
own  youth.     He  does  not  enter  into  details,  but 
says  :    "  Then  we  felt  that  there  is  a  force  above 
both  teacher  and  ourselves— namely,  the  truth." 
Such,  then,  is  what  I  call  the  moral  element  in 
education  provided  by  the  exegetical  teaching  of 
the  classics.     As  you  see,  I  am  fully  justified  in 
calling  this  subject  of  instruction  moral.    Let  us 
now  compare  with  it  two  other  courses  of  study. 
I  must,  however,  first  beg  you  to  observe  that  I 
am  giving  you  again  a  chapter  from  the  psycho- 
logical science  of  knowledges,  which  is  a  science 
not  of  to-day,  but  of  the  future.     You  will  not 
then  ascribe  to  me  a  wish  to  insult  or  depreciate 
any  branch  of  study.     I  must  protest  most  ear- 
nestly against  any  such  assumption.     I  have  ex- 
plained to  you  before  how  it  was  just  my  own 
special  branch  of  knowledge  which  taught  me  to 
honour  all  those  other  branches  also  that  shoot 
forth  from  the  majestic  tree  of  Universal  Know- 
ledge :   I  wiU  tell  you  later  how  that  came  about. 
But,  gentlemen,  in  comparing  the  horse  with  the 


Our  Debt  to  Antiquity 


93 


eagle,  we  surely  have  the  right  to  say  that  the 
eagle  has  wings  and  the  horse  not.  Well,  does  this 
assertion  imply  that  we  depreciate  the  horse  ?  The 
horse  has  other  virtues  which  the  eagle  has  not. 
In  the  same  way,  in  the  present  question,  I  do 
fully  recognise  not  merely  the  immense  import- 
ance of  mathematics  but  also  its  great  educational 
value.  None  the  less,  I  am  justified  in  saying  that 
we  cannot  assign  to  that  subject  the  educational 
moral  force  of  which  I  am  here  speaking.  Of 
course,  like  classics,  it  also  pursues  the  truth,  but 
how  ?  By  the  process  of  strict  and  precise  deduc- 
tions which  permit  of  no  scientific  dispute.  An 
opinion  which  does  not  correspond  with  the  truth 
is,  of  course,  untenable  ;  but  in  mathematics  such 
an  opinion  cannot  even  be  formed  by  any  reason- 
able process — at  any  rate,  in  the  mathematical 
course  prescribed  for  our  secondary  schools.  This 
is  shown  even  by  its  history.  Of  course,  there 
was  a  time  when  no  one  knew  that  the  sum  of  the 
angles  in  a  triangle  is  equal  to  two  right  angles ; 
or  that  the  sum  of  two  numbers,  multiplied  by 
their  difference,  is  equal  to  the  difference  of  their 
squares.  Once,  however,  these  truths  were  ascer- 
tained, no  further  dispute  on  the  subject  was  even 
possible.  Thus  mathematics  does  not  teach  you 
to  change  your  opinion  on  account  of  the  more 
convincing  arguments  advanced  by  your  opponent ; 
it  does  not  call  for  that  important  and  profitable 
control  over  self,  which  results  in  the  frank  con- 
fession :  "I  began  by  disputing  your  assertion, 
but  now  I  see  that  you  were  right."    And  precisely 


94 


Our  Debt  to  Antiquity 


Our  Debt  to  Antiquity 


95 


on  these  grounds  we  are  justified  in  classing  mathe- 
matics with  those  branches  of  instruction  which 
we  may  term  indifferent  for  morahty,  or,  in  other 
words,  non-moral. 

Modern  languages,  including  Russian,  form  the 
opposite  extreme.  These  have,  of  course,  to  be 
known  ;  but  we  are  now  speaking  not  of  the 
knowledge  itself,  but  of  the  way  in  which  this 
knowledge  is  attained.  And  I  am  sure  you  know 
the  process  well.  You  use  such  and  such  an  ex- 
pression ;  you  are  corrected — "  that  is  wrong." 
Doubtless  the  people  who  correct  you  know  their 
business,  and  you  profit  by  taking  note  of  their 
corrections  ;  you  will  acquire  all  the  more  rapidly 
the  knowledge  at  which  you  are  aiming.  But 
have  you  yielded  to  argument  ?  Have  you  bowed 
before  the  force  of  knowledge  or  truth  ?  No  ! 
Knowledge  and  truth  have  no  place  here ;  you 
have  bowed  before  the  authority  of  a  person  whom 
you  presume  rightly  enough  to  possess  the  learn- 
ing which  you  wish  to  acquire.  If  a  dispute  arise, 
the  teacher's  word  is  decisive.  Against  the  verdict 
"  that  is  right  "  or  "  that  is  wrong  "  it  is  useless 
to  argue  or  raise  objections.  Now,  suppose  that 
this  unquestioning  acquiescence  with  the  verdict 
of  "  right  "  or  "  wrong  "  has  passed  into  your 
flesh  and  blood,  what,  then,  will  your  attitude  be 
toward  the  various  questions  which  await  you  in 
life?  A  purely  dependent  attitude  is  a  foregone 
conclusion.  That  blessed  reflection,  "  that  is 
right,"  will  be  a  panacea  in  every  doubtful  case. 
"  That  is  right."    Who  says  so  ?    That  is  a  matter 


of  no  importance  ;  whether  it  be  the  authorities, 
or  society,  or  my  party,  or  my  associates,  or  the 
Press,  no  matter — the  whole  difference  consists 
merely  in  the  colour  of  the  livery.  And  this  is 
why  I  call  such  a  method  of  arriving  at  knowledge 
unfavourable  in  regard  to  educational  morality, 
or,  in  other  words,  immoral.  And  if  the  teaching 
of  modern  languages  should  be  developed  in  our 
secondary  schools  at  the  expense  of  instruction  in 
the  classics,  the  result  must  inevitably  be  a  de- 
velopment of  that  obstinacy  and  intoleration 
which  even  at  present  are  so  rampant  in  our 
midst. 

Such  is,  then,  the  view  which  weighs  the  moral 
element  in  any  given  educational  course — a  new 
page  out  of  a  yet  unwritten  book  deahng  with  the 
psychological  science  of  knowledges.  It  shows  us 
that  the  method  of  interpretation  applied  in 
classical  reading  is  in  the  highest  degree  "  educa- 
tionally moral,"  since  it  admits  of  differences  of 
opinion  and  decides  them  by  the  authority  of  the 
truth.  Our  method  is  of  value,  apart  from  all 
other  considerations,  merely  because  it  produces 
in  the  learner  the  habit  of  yielding  to  persuasion  ; 
that  is  to  say,  the  capacity  of  taking  newly  ascer- 
tained facts  into  consideration  and  recognising 
their  cogency  as  arguments.  And  it  is  precisely 
this  capacity  for  being  persuaded  which  is  the 
indispensable  condition  for  a  profitable  dispute 
and  a  reasonable  agreement. 

I  have  been  insisting  hitherto  on  the  education- 
ally moral  side  of  instruction  in  classical  literature. 


96 


Our  Debt  to  Antiquity 


There  is,  however,  another  side  which  I  may  call 
the  educationally  intellectual.  And,  in  fact,  in 
the  example  which  I  gave  you,  what  was  the  cause 
of  my  mistake  ?  Insufficient  observation.  And 
what  was  the  cause  of  my  change  of  opinion  ? 
An  addition  to  the  materials  for  observation. 
Thus,  if  we  ask  ourselves  how  to  define  our  method 
of  exegetical  interpretation,  we  must  answer : 
"  An  empirical  method  of  observation,  as  con- 
trasted with  the  deductive  method  of  mathe- 
matics on  the  one  hand,  and  the  experimental 
method  of  physics  and  kindred  sciences  on  the 
other.'*  Judged  from  this  point  of  view,  no  sciences 
except  the  Natural  Sciences,  in  the  strict  sense  of 
the  word,  can  compare  with  a  careful  reading  of 
the  classics,  and  even  these  only  if  the  field  of 
observation  be  thrown  open  to  the  scholar  in  its 
fullest  extent.  Suppose  that  I  send  a  boy  to  a 
willow  plantation  to  determine  the  nature  of  a 
willow,  whether  it  is  monoecious  or  dioecious ;  in 
this  case  the  field  of  observation  does  mean  some- 
thing, since  there  are  many  trees,  and  he  can  both 
make  and  correct  mistakes.  But  you  will  easily 
see  that  we  cannot  bring  the  willow  grove  into 
school.  No,  the  only  material  for  the  empirical 
method  of  observation  possible  in  a  class-room  is 
classical  reading.  It  alone  puts  at  the  scholar's 
disposal  the  whole  field  of  observation — namely, 
the  text.  And  the  boy's  inteUigence  trained  by 
this  method  will  be  prepared  for  its  tasks  not 
merely  in  the  field  of  the  Natural  Sciences,  but  in 
the  field  of  real  life.    In  the  affairs  of  life  deduction 


Our  Debt  to  Antiquity 


97 


plays  a  small  part,  experiment  a  smaller  part  still. 
Experience  in  life  is  gained  almost  entirely  by 
observation  and  the  proper  actions  taken  in  con- 
nection therewith. 

These  are  the  two  sides  of  classical  instruction 
regarded  as  an  educational  method.    We  now  pass 
to  the  actual  books  read,  and  I  must  first  of  all 
lay  stress  on  the  intellectual  character  of  classical 
literature  as  well  as  that  of  the  languages.    I  have 
already  insisted  on  the  latter  point  and  contrasted 
it  with  the  sensuous  character  of  modern  languages. 
Now,  classical  literature,  as  the  product  of  the 
classical  languages,  bears  the  same  stamp  as  they 
do.    The  recognition  of  the  supremacy  of  reason 
permeates  it  throughout  its  whole  extent.    As  the 
Greek  word  TreiOofMai  means  both    '*  I  let  myself 
be  convinced  "  and  ''  I  obey,"  just  so  in  Greek 
literature  and  its  pupil,  Roman  literature,  we  meet 
ever3rwhere  a  uniform  atmosphere,  if  I  may  use 
the  expression,  a  diffused  consciousness  that  Will 
is  directed  by  Reason.    We  often,  indeed,  hear  the 
view  expressed  by  persons,  who  believe  themselves 
classical  scholars,  that  the  ancient  world  bowed 
before  fate.     But  the  fact  is  that  a  very  great 
amount  of  knowledge  is  needed  to  form  a  correct 
judgment    regarding    Antiquity.      The    classical 
peoples  were,  to  employ  a  happy  expression  of 
Vladimir    Solovioff's,    not    single-thoughted,    but 
many-thoughted.     Bearing  in  mind  this  relation 
of  reason  to  will,  we  might  compare  the  evolution 
of  the  world's  literature  to  a  baUistic  curve  which 
returns  to  the  plane  whence  it  started.    Its  begin- 

H 


98 


Our  Debt  to  Antiquity 


ning  is  the  most  primitive  literature  in  which 
man's  doings  are  explained  by  the  supposition 
that  he  is  possessed  by  good  or  evil  spirits.  As 
late  as  Homer  we  find  traces  of  this  idea,  though 
he  makes  efforts  to  free  himself  from  its  influence. 
iEschylus  triumphantly  presents  us  with  the  prin- 
ciple of  unlimited  freewill  actuated  by  reason. 
This  principle  is  the  basis  of  all  the  succeeding 
philosophy  and  literature  of  the  ancient  world  ; 
it  may  fairly  be  counted  the  culminating  point  of 
our  curve.  As  the  moderns  began  to  appear  on 
the  scene,  emotion  began  to  master  intelligence. 
Classicism  was  challenged  by  the  Romantic  move- 
ment and  its  descendants,  which,  though  they 
might  bear  different  names,  still  bore  one  hall- 
mark of  identity — the  supremacy  of  Will  over 
Reason.  The  furthest  advances  in  this  direction 
have  been  made  by  modern  Russian  literature, 
especially  by  Dostoyevski.  His  writings  form  the 
furthest  point  as  yet  reached ;  the  curve  has  re- 
turned to  the  plane  of  its  starting-point.  Mankind 
is  once  again  guided  by  good  and  bad  spirits  under 
the  names  of  passions  and  inspirations.  All  this 
is  consummate  art  in  its  way,  but  not  from  the 
educational  point  of  view,  for  it  is  profitable  for 
a  man,  while  still  in  the  stage  of  development,  to 
recognise  the  sway  of  reason,  even  though  in  later 
life  he  should  come  to  see  that  his  neighbours  are 
guided  not  by  reason  and  grounded  conviction, 
but  by  passion  and  caprice. 

I  now  proceed.    The  classical  authors  not  merely 
took  extraordinary  pains  in  regard  to  style  ;  they 


Our  Debt  to  Antiquity 


99 


stood  at  the  acme  of  the  culture  of  their  time,  and 
they  might  readily  have  applied  to  themselves 
Lassalle's  proud  dictum  :  ''I  write  each  one  of 
my  words  armed  in  the  panoply  of  the  culture  of 
my  age."  That  ancient  culture,  though  far  less 
profound  than  ours  in  special  branches  of  know- 
ledge, was  yet  far  more  many-sided  in  the  mind 
of  each  of  its  great  representatives.  All  attempts 
at  understanding  the  classical  authors  should  take 
account  of  this  fact.  And  hence  we  are  not  with- 
out reason  for  saying  that  the  science  of  Antiquity 
is  not  a  special  science  in  the  sense  in  which  the 
term  is  used  of  the  other  sciences,  which  are 
wrapped  up  in  their  own  self-sufficiency.  It  is 
rather  an  encyclopaedic  course,  which  brings  its 
exponents  continually  into  touch  with  other  de- 
partments of  knowledge.  It  maintains  and  fosters 
a  consciousness  of  the  unity  of  knowledge  and  a 
respect  for  all  its  various  branches.  Thanks  to  all 
this  process,  it  discloses  to  the  view  a  larger 
horizon  than  any  special  branch  of  science  can 
reveal.  *'  A  classic  can  make  use  of  everything," 
"  Ein  Philologe  kann  alles  brauchen,"  was  a 
favourite  maxim  of  my  lamented  teacher  Ribbeck, 
who  was  himself  one  of  the  most  highly  educated 
and  enlightened  men  of  his  time.  A  classical 
teacher  finds  himself  bound  to  sunmion  to  his  aid 
at  every  step  now  jurisprudence,  now  an  acquaint- 
ance with  naval  and  military  matters,  now  political 
and  social  sciences,  now  psychology  and  aesthetics, 
now  natural  science  and  anthropology,  now,  again 
— and  this  is  the  most  common  case  of  all — ex- 


lOO 


Our  Debt  to  Antiquity 


perience  in  life.  It  is  obvious  that  it  is  just  such 
a  master  who  is  most  hkely  to  be  a  real  teacher  of 
his  pupils.  He  is  the  very  one  to  influence  their 
whole  mind,  the  very  one,  as  an  all-sided  man 
himself,  to  educate  a  man  in  that  age  when  the 
mind  is  still  all-sided  and  has  not  yet  made  a 
speciality  of  any  science.  Hence  it  may  be 
gathered  how  limited  an  acquaintance  with  the 
classical  school  those  people  possess  who  reproach 
it  with  deciding  the  choice  of  a  man's  special 
study  when  he  is  still  a  child.  The  truth  is  just 
the  opposite  :  it  is  precisely  classical  education 
which  leaves  the  fullest  freedom  of  choice  right  up 
to  the  highest  classes.  In  support  of  these  re- 
marks I  will  permit  myself  to  cite  a  few  examples. 
Whoever  cares  to  multiply  them  will  find  a  rich 
harvest  in  that  admirable  book,  Cauer's  "  Palaestra 
Vita." 

In  the  (Edipus  Rex,  Sophocles  describes  the 
season  of  the  summer  pasturage  in  these  words  : 
"  From  the  spring  till  Arcturus "  (line  1137). 
The  latter  reference  is  quite  obscure  ;  my  scientific 
conscience  forbids  me  to  remain  content  with  the 
mere  translation.  I  begin  by  satisfying  myself 
as  to  whether  my  pupil  knows  what  Arcturus  is ; 
or,  rather,  I  satisfy  myself  that  he  is  completely 
innocent  of  any  idea  about  it  whatsoever.  And 
that  is  a  pity,  for  it  is  shameful  to  see  in  the  starry 
heavens  nothing  but  a  mass  of  glittering  dots.  I 
shall  point  out  to  him  this  glorious  bright  star  on 
the  map  and  show  him  how  to  find  it  in  reality. 
But  that  is  not  enough.    What  is  the  meaning  of 


Our  Debt  to  Antiquity 


lOI 


"  till  Arcturus  "  ?  I  must  explain  to  him  what 
is  meant  by  the  morning  rising  of  a  star  or  con- 
stellation, and  for  this  purpose  I  must  first  take 
measures  to  understand  it  myself.  Even  then  the 
matter  is  not  ended.  Why  does  the  poet  have 
recourse  to  such  a  complicated  definition  of  time  ? 
The  morning  rising  of  Arcturus  occurs  about  the 
loth  of  September.  Why,  then,  does  the  poet  not 
say  "  till  September,"  or  rather,  as  he  was  an 
Athenian,  "  till  Boedromion  "  ?  I  must  explain 
to  the  boy  that  in  Sophocles'  time  the  different 
Greek  states  had  all  calendars  of  their  own.  It 
would  have  been  ridiculous,  therefore,  if  a  Sopho- 
clean  character,  who  was  a  Corinthian,  started  to 
use  the  terms  of  the  Athenian  calendar.  Yet  if 
he  used  the  Corinthian  words  he  might  not  have 
been  understood.  The  poet  was,  therefore,  forced 
involuntarily  to  have  recourse  to  the  calendar 
common  alike  to  all  Greece  and  to  all  humanity — 
the  astronomical  calendar.  .  .  .  And  yet  alto- 
gether involuntarily  ?  No,  voluntarily  as  well.  I 
will  endeavour  to  make  my  pupil  realise  the  charm 
of  that  epoch  when  the  starry  heavens  still  said 
so  much  to  mortals,  when  men  noted  all  their 
changes  and  arranged  by  them  the  time  of  yearly 
labour  and  the  time  of  night  watches  and  guided 
their  vessels  by  the  stars,  when  the  knowledge  of 
their  eternal  order  uplifted  man's  mind  to  a  hope- 
ful surmise  of  the  everlasting  Cause  which  is 
revealed  in  them. 

Let  me  take  another  example — this  time  from 
the  same  poet's  Electra.    Clytemnestra,  who  had 


102 


Our  Debt  to  Antiquity 


murdered  her  husband,  has  been  visited  by  a 
terrible  dream ;  her  daughter  Electra  and  the 
younger  woman's  companions  have  no  doubt  that 
this  vision  was  sent  by  the  angry  shade  of  her 
murdered  lord  Agamemnon,  and  that  conse- 
quently the  hour  of  vengeance  is  nigh.  "  Take 
heart,  child,"  they  say  to  her.  "  Surely  your  sire, 
the  Prince  of  Hellas,  is  mindful :  mindful,  too,  is 
that  ancient  two-edged  axe  which  slew  him  then 
ruthlessly !  "  (v.  483).  Are  we  to  count  this 
merely  a  poetical  fancy  ?  No  ;  we  feel  ourselves 
transported  into  the  ideas  and  beliefs  of  a  primi- 
tive period.  Anthropology  alone  is  capable  of 
illuminating  for  us  the  mental  outlook  which  in- 
spired these  ideas  and  these  feehngs.  The  spirit 
of  the  murdered  king,  wroth  amid  the  shades  of 
the  underworld  and  demanding  vengeance — this  is 
no  creation  of  a  poet's  fancy  ;  it  is  a  real  object 
of  popular  belief.  The  dead  man  actually  sent 
that  terrible  vision  to  his  unfaithful  wife.  And  he 
could  do  it,  moreover,  for  that  murky  habitation, 
whither  she  sent  him  down  before  his  day,  was 
deemed  also  to  be  the  home  of  dreams  ;  here  they 
repose  by  day  like  bats  under  the  vaulted  roof  of 
a  cave,  and  from  here  they  take  their  flight  as  the 
darkness  falls.  But  the  idea  concerning  the  axe 
is  of  peculiar  significance.  As  we  see,  it,  too,  is 
endowed  with  feelings.  It  takes  part  in  the  deed, 
and  burns  with  the  wish  to  atone  for  the  first  un- 
righteous murder  by  a  second  righteous  and 
necessary  one.  Not  till  that  be  accomplished  will 
the  spirit  of  the  curse  which  dwells  in  the  axe  be 


Our  Debt  to  Antiquity 


103 


^ 


satisfied.  We  find  ourselves  here  in  the  presence 
of  a  so-called  "  object-soul,"  a  relic  of  primitive 
animism.  That  conception  gave  rise  in  early 
times  to  an  actual  jurisdiction  over  material 
objects,  and  even  now  it  is  not  absolutely  dead. 
"  Yes,"  you  may  ask,  "  but  why  transport  our- 
selves into  these  primitive  and  savage  ages  ?  " 
Well,  in  the  first  place  that  we  should  perceive 
that  they  are  not  savage  and  that  we  should  not 
share  the  intolerable  conceit  of  "  up-to-date " 
gentlemen,  but  mainly  because  they  were  the 
cradle  of  many  of  those  moral  and  judicial  ideas 
on  which  we  draw  even  to  the  present  day. 

I  will  cite  yet  another  example,  which  is  par- 
ticularly interesting  as  affording  material  for  a 
comparison  between  ancient  and  modern  poetry. 
In  the  tenth  book  of  the  Odyssey  (line  510)  there 
occurs  the  description  of  a  place  lying  on  the 
further  side  of  Ocean,  the  portal  to  the  realm  of 
shades.    And  a  gloomy  picture  it  is  : 

cv^'  aKTYi  T€  Aaxcia  koX  aX(T(.a  ITe/JO-cc^ovciTys 
aaKpal  t'  alyupoi  koX  treat  toAccrtKa/aTrot. 

"  There  are  a  lowly  strand  and  sacred  groves  of 
Persephone,  lofty  poplars  and  willows,  which  lose 
(or,  destroy)  their  fruits."  Why  have  the  poplars 
and  willows  received  this  epithet,  which  at  first 
sight  seems  so  strange  ?  An  epithet,  be  it  noted, 
which  is  far  more  poetical  in  the  Greek  than  in 
the  translation,  owing  to  its  being  there  but  a 
single  word.  Well,  the  connection  of  thought  is 
as  follows.    The  poplar  and  the  willow  both  belong 


104 


Our  Debt  to  Antiquity 


to  what  are  called  the  dioecious  class  of  trees ; 
that  is  to  say,  some  of  them  give  only  masculine 
flowers,  whereas  the  others  give  only  feminine 
flowers.  There  are  no  trees  in  these  classes  of 
both  masculine  and  feminine  type,  like  the  oak 
and  the  great  majority  of  other  trees,  which  are 
therefore  called  monoecious.  If,  then,  poplars  and 
willows  stand  singly  or  in  groups  of  individuals  of 
one  sex  only,  they  cannot  produce  descendants  ; 
they  "  lose  their  fruits."  Of  course.  Homer  did 
not  know  the  process  of  the  fructification  of  trees  ; 
hence  it  comes  that  he  employs  here  the  word 
"  fruits  "  in  place  of  '*  the  unfertilised  flowers." 
The  phenomenon  itself,  however,  of  the  loss  of 
the  "  fruits  "  was  remarked  equally  by  himself 
and  by  his  hearers,  and  that  is  the  reason  why 
he  has  furnished  his  unfruitful  realm  of  shades 
with  precisely  willows  and  poplars.  The  object 
itself  and  its  beautiful  epithet  both  possess  in  this 
case  a  deep  symbolical,  in  other  words  a  poetical, 
significance.  Now  allow  me  to  contrast  with  the 
king  of  Greek  poets  the  king  of  modern  Russian 
poets — namely,  Pushkin.  I  will  recall  to  your 
minds  the  fine  poem  in  which  he  describes  the 
impression  made  upon  him  after  a  long  absence 
by  his  home.  "  Again  I  trod  that  corner  of  the 
earth,"  and  so  on.  In  the  course  of  the  poem  we 
meet  the  following  passage  : 

On  the  edge 
Of  my  ancestral  lands,  just  where  the  road 
Rain-stabb'd  and  scarr'd  winds  up  the  hill,  there  stand 
Three  pine-trees,  one  apart,  the  other  twain 
Close  by  each  other.     Here  in  moonlit  nights, 


Our  Debt  to  Antiquity 


105 


As  I  rode  by.  the  rustle  of  their  tops 
Would  ever  greet  me  with  familiar  sound. 
By  this  path  now  I  drove,  and  spied  again 
The  trees  before  me,  still  the  same  as  ever : 
Again  their  rustling  music,  so  well  known. 
Fell  on  my  ear.     But  round  their  hoary  roots. 
Where  erstwhile  all  was  waste  and  barren  ground, 
A  young  grove  now  has  sprung  and  clusters  thick 
Like  children  'neath  their  shadow.     But  apart 
And  gloomy  their  companion  stands,  alone 
Like  an  old  un wedded  man,  and  round  him  now 
All  is  as  empty  as  before ! 

Now,  regarded  as  poetry,  this  picture  is  flaw- 
less ;  it  would  be  perfection  in  every  respect  if 
the  poet  had  only  chosen  with  Homer  willows  or 
poplars  instead  of  pines.  The  pine  tree  is  monoe- 
cious, and  under  no  circumstances  can  be  regarded 
as  an  unwedded  bachelor.  The  process  which  the 
poet's  fancy  has  described  here  does  not  correspond 
with  reality.  Does  this  imply  that  we  must  de- 
preciate Pushkin's  merit  as  a  poet  ?  Far  from  it. 
The  poet  is  not  expected  to  be  omniscient ;  ignor- 
ance of  botany  does  not  prevent  him  from  fulfilling 
his  chief  duty,  which  is  "  to  arouse  noble  feelings 
in  men's  hearts."  But  still  the  fact  remains  that 
the  poetry  of  Homer  and  of  the  ancients  generally 
gains  if  looked  at  by  the  eyes  of  the  student  of 
nature  ;  the  poetry  of  Pushkin  and.  generally 
speaking,  of  the  moderns  loses  thereby.*  But  is 
it  not  a  sin,  you  may  ask,  to  destroy  the  effect  of 
a  fine  passage  of  poetry  by  petty  botanical  objec- 
tions ?  Yes.  it  is,  indeed ;  there  I  quite  agree  with 
you.    That  is  to  say,  in  other  words,  it  is  a  sin  to 

*  This  cannot  be  said  of  Tennyson. 


io6 


Our  Debt  to  Antiquity 


employ  modern  poetry  for  exegetical  reading — 
another  proof  of  the  correctness  of  Wundt's  theory 
that  the  appHcation  of  the  method  employed  in 
classical  reading  to  modern  authors  must  inevit- 
ably result  in  mere  petty  criticism  ("Logic,"  ii.  2, 
§  314).  The  poetry  of  the  ancients  has  been  fre- 
quently compared  with  Nature  ;  the  comparison  is 
justified  in  the  feature  which  we  are  at  present 
discussing,  as  in  many  others.  Like  Nature,  it  is 
whole  and  shrinks  from  no  responsibihty  ;  modern 
poetry  is  quite  another  thing.  If  you  possess  a 
ring  which  is  a  masterpiece  of  jeweller's  work,  you 
may  admire  it  as  much  as  you  please,  but  only 
while  you  look  at  it  with  the  naked  eye  ;  other- 
wise you  find  so  many  defects  in  it  that  you  will 
lose  all  your  pleasure  in  regarding  it.  But  a  tiny 
rose-leaf  or  a  butterfly's  little  wing — these  you  can 
examine  as  critically  as  you  choose,  even  with  a 
microscope,  and  each  fresh  examination  will  reveal 
new  and  interesting  features  for  your  instruction. 
I  have  purposely  chosen  passages  for  the  ex- 
planation of  which  the  classic  is  obliged  to  turn 
for  help  to  sciences  comparatively  unconnected 
with  his  own  subject.  From  these  examples  you 
can  easily  imagine  what  interesting  and  varied 
topics  present  themselves  in  the  departments  of 
knowledge  more  closely  allied  and  akin  to  classical 
scholarship,  such  as  history  and  aesthetics.  I 
must  here  remark  that  in  this  particular  respect 
Greek  hterature  stands  higher  in  almost  all  rela- 
tions than  the  literature  of  Rome  ;  just  as  the 
Greek  authors  studied  in  our  schools  stand,  gene- 


i 


P\ 


Our  Debt  to  Antiquity 


107 


rally  speaking,  on  a  higher  level  than  the  Roman. 
The  champions  of  classical  education,  who  see  the 
centre  of  gravity  in  the  study  of  the  ancient 
languages  as  such,  can  content  themselves  in  some 
measure  with  the  retention  of  Latin  alone.    But 
those  who  set  special  store  by  the  ancient  litera- 
tures must  naturally  desire  the  retention  of  Greek 
as  well.    We  must  suppose,  of  course,  that  they 
know  what  exactly  they  want.    Further,  every  one 
will  agree  with  me,  I  suppose,  that  such  comments 
on  the  text  as  I  have  offered  above  will  be  in 
place  only  if  the  passage  read  presents  no  great 
difficulties  of  grammar  or  syntax.    If  I  am  obliged 
to  engage  in  mutual  effort  with  my  pupils  in 
order  to  establish  the  form  of  aAo-ca,  or  the  verb 
from  which  wAco-iKapTros  is  derived,  and  so  on,  we 
should  have  no  time  for  deeper  and  more  interest- 
ing questions.    And  so  the  proposal  to  defer  the 
beginning  of  the  study  of  the  classical  languages 
as  such   till  the  pupil  has  entered  the  middle 
classes  would  simply  postpone  the  drill  in  grammar 
from  the  middle  classes,  where  it  is  at  present 
discontinued,    to    the    higher    classes.      Such    a 
system  would  compel  us  to  sacrifice  exactly  those 
elements  of  classical  education  which  its  advocates 
themselves  are  the  first  to  recognise  as  the  most 
desirable  and  useful.     If  I  am  asked  to  force  an 
orange  into  a  cup  too  small  for  it,  I  can  certainly 
manage  to  do  so  ;    I  have  only  to  squeeze  it,  but 
in  the  process  the  juice  will  escape  and  the  un- 
palatable parts  alone  remain. 

But  to  return  to  my  theme.     In  my  previous 


io8 


Our  Debt  to  Antiquity 


lectures  I  have  already  referred  to  the  historical 
spirit  imparted  by  classical  study  as  an  important 
asset  in  education.     To-day,  too,  I  touched  on 
this  subject  in  connection  with  classical  semasi- 
ology,* but  it  comes  out  still  more  clearly  in  the 
course  of  reading.    The  commune  in  Homer,  the 
Greek  states  at  the  epoch  of  the  Persian  wars 
described  by  Herodotus,  the  Athens  of  the  time 
of  Demosthenes,  the  development  of  the  Roman 
Repubhc  in  Livy,  its  fall  in  Cicero,  the  rise  of  the 
principate  in  Horace— that  is  the  pohtical  back- 
ground presented  to  the  young  scholar's  gaze,  and 
to  it  he  should  continually  turn  his  eyes  in  the 
course  of  his  literary  study.     Even  in  this  con- 
nection the  principle  of  evolution  may  be  explained 
and  grasped.    One  may  see  how  it  involves  certain 
elements  of  culture  and  morals  ;   while  others  tri- 
umphantly defy  its  assaults  and  maintain  their 
position  unshaken  to  the  end.    Homer's  commune 
has  passed  away  ;    but  Hector's  love  for  Andro- 
mache has  never  become  an  anachronism. 

And,  taken  all  in  all,  these  successive  epochs  of 
Antiquity  do,  indeed,  form  a  common  background, 
almost  equidistant  from  our  own  times.  In  study- 
ing it  we  recognise  a  common  starting-point  for 
all  the  ideas  which  mould  us  to-day.  In  this  con- 
nection the  moral  judgment  which  we  may  pass 
on  the  phenomena  and  ideas  of  Antiquity,  valu- 
able as  it  may  be,  cannot  affect  our  appreciation 
of  their  great  importance.  For  instance,  slavery, 
as  we  all  know,  was  a  lamentable  institution  ;  but 

*  Cf.  page  65. 


Our  Debt  to  Antiquity 


109 


slavery  has  passed  away,  and  its  passing  was  due 
to  the  assault  of  those  ideas  regarding  the  unity 
of  the  human  race  which  were  developed  by  the 
ancients.  The  tribunal  of  public  conscience  is,  on 
the  other  hand,  a  pleasing  and  noteworthy  phe- 
nomenon. Now  it  awakened  anew  to  life,  after 
long  eclipse,  through  the  effect  of  these  same 
ideas  which  were  entertained  in  Antiquity.  And 
so  everywhere.  Evil  lacks  vitality  and  perishes ; 
good  possesses  it  and  survives.  This  consideration 
I  beheve  to  be  at  the  bottom  of  that  optimism  and 
idealism,  that  healthy  and  honest  frame  of  mind, 
which  the  study  of  Antiquity  promotes.  The  fact 
that  classical  education  does  inculcate  such  an 
outlook  has  long  been  observed.  As  early  as  the 
beginning  of  last  century  the  well-known  German 
author,  J.  P.  Richter,  remarked:  "Mankind  of 
to-day  would  sink  into  a  bottomless  abyss,  if  our 
youth  on  their  journey  to  the  fair  of  hfe  did  not 
pass  through  the  tranquil  and  noble  shrine  of 
Antiquity  "  (Levana). 

The  impulse  here  alluded  to  is  closely  connected 
with  a  second,  which  has  reference  to  the  essential 
meaning  of  classical  interpretation.  Every  author 
worthy  of  the  name  writes  in  such  a  way  that  his 
adult  and  educated  contemporaries  can  under- 
stand him  without  requiring  the  assistance  of 
expositors.  Explanation  of  the  text,  therefore,  is 
justifiable  only  when  the  historical  background, 
in  the  light  of  which  the  work  in  question  was  by 
itself  intelligible,  has  become  dim  for  us  ;  the 
more   it   has   changed,    the   more   acceptable   is 


no 


Our  Debt  to  Antiquity 


editorial  work.  This  is  why  commentaries  of  the 
classics  stand  on  such  a  high  level ;  whereas  a 
similar  method  applied  in  schools  to  modern 
writers  must  degenerate,  as  Wundt  remarks,  into 
a  discussion  of  trivialities.  This  is  also  one  of  the 
reasons — not  the  only  one — why  we  must  approve 
of  the  opinion  expressed  by  Goethe  in  a  conversa- 
tion with  Eckermann  (vol.  iii.  99)  :  "  Study  not 
your  compeers  and  fellow-toilers,  but  great  men 
of  old,  whose  works  have  retained  undiminished 
respect  and  value  for  centuries  .  .  .  study  Moli^re, 
Shakespeare,  but  always  and  before  all  the  ancient 
Greeks." 

I  will  now  touch  on  one  further  point,  my  last. 
There  is  one  feeling  that  is  precious  for  every  man, 
a  feeling  which  school  training  and  it  alone  can 
inculcate ;  I  refer  to  the  feeling  for  truth  in  the 
wide  sense  of  the  term.  Taken  in  its  narrow  sense, 
it  simply  means  that  no  one  should  wilfully  mis- 
represent in  speaking  the  picture  impressed  on 
his  memory  by  his  senses  and  his  powers  of  re- 
flection ;  that  is  to  say,  should  lie.  In  the  wide 
sense,  however,  it  includes  the  demand  that  this 
picture  should  correspond  as  nearly  as  possible 
with  reality.  The  first  condition  apart  from  the 
second  is  almost  useless.  What  would  be  the 
good  of  a  photographer's  refusing  to  touch  up  his 
work  if  his  faulty  camera  turns  out  mere  carica- 
tures ?  Now,  it  is  just  the  second,  the  main 
feehng  for  truth,  that  the  school  should  develop, 
for  the  task  is  beyond  the  power  of  the  family. 
In  the  family  circle  a  boy  is  continually  hearing 


Our  Debt  to  Antiquity 


III 


hastily  formed  judgments,  dictated  by  sympathy 
or  antipathy ;  he  grows  accustomed  to  train  his 
own  judgment  in  the  same  easy-going  fashion. 
The  school,  and  the  school  alone,  can  teach  him 
how  to  work  that  his  judgments  should  conform 
to  truth.  Now,  the  most  necessary  condition  for 
this  capacity  is  that  a  man  should  take  his  know- 
ledge not  at  third  or  tenth  hand,  but  at  first  hand 
only.  And  in  this  respect  our  exegetical  reading 
takes  a  foremost  place.  Every  other  branch  of 
knowledge  comes  to  a  boy  at  third  or  tenth  hand  ; 
ancient  culture  alone  is  learnt  at  first  hand.  As 
he  reads  Herodotus  and  Livy  he  peruses  at  the 
same  time  the  first-hand  authorities  for  Greek  and 
Roman  history — the  same  as  those  used  by  Grote 
and  Mommsen.  We  can  easily  understand  how 
much  the  educational  value  of  Antiquity  would 
lose  if  the  originals  should  come  to  be  replaced  by 
translations.  I  do  not  refer  here  to  our  debarring 
our  pupils  from  the  original  authorities  and  ac- 
customing them  to  be  satisfied  with  knowledge  at 
second  hand ;  this  is  bad  enough,  but  this  is  far 
from  all.  The  celebrated  writer  on  law,  Jhering, 
drew  from  a  passage  of  Sophocles  a  completely 
erroneous  conclusion  as  to  the  practice  of  poly- 
gamy in  heroic  times  ;  he  had  read  it  in  a  trans- 
lation, whereas  the  original  would  have  saved  him 
from  his  mistake.  Classical  critics  did  not  overlook 
his  blunder,  seeing  in  it,  rightly  enough,  the  result 
of  neglecting  their  maxim  :    ''ad  fontes  !  " 

And  let  me  not  be  told  that  in  any  case  the 
classical  school  cannot  give  its  pupils  sufficient 


112 


Our  Debt  to  Antiquity 


knowledge  to  read  the  originals.  Faulty  and  de- 
fective as  this  knowledge  may  be,  still  it  enables 
a  man,  if  obliged  to  glance  at  some  ancient  author, 
to  check  a  translation  by  the  original ;  and  in  our 
historical  age  every  worker  in  research  and  every 
writer  may  find  himself  in  this  position.  This 
recalls  to  my  mind  the  lament  of  the  greatest 
genius  of  the  Russian  people,  who  had  not  even 
this  capacity.  When  his  poetic  mission  directed 
him  to  the  study  of  the  earliest  forms  of  poetry, 
he  was  obhged  to  read  them  in  the  most  modern 
translations.  His  delicate  taste  was  fully  con- 
scious of  their  shortcomings.  "  How  often  do  I 
tear  my  hair  for  not  having  had  a  classical  educa- 
tion !  "  These  are  Pushkin's  words  to  Pogodin.* 
With  these  words  permit  me  to  close  this  lecture. 
What  I  have  said  does  not,  of  course,  exhaust  the 
characteristics  of  classical  hterature.  Much  has 
been  necessarily  omitted ;  something  may  be 
added  afterwards  in  connection  with  the  other 
elements  which  compose  the  mental  culture  of 
the  ancients — their  religion,  their  art,  their  philo- 
sophy. But  it  must  remain  over  till  my  succeeding 
lectures. 


*  Barsukoff,  "  Life  and  Works  of  Pogodin  "  (vol.  iii.  59). 


LECTURE    V 


SO  far  we  have  confined  ourselves  to  the  narrow 
circle  of  studies  which  I  call  school  Antiquity 
or  school  classics.  I  have  tried  to  explain  the 
educational  importance  of  those  subjects  which  in 
our  classical  secondary  schools  occupy  the  hours 
given  up  to  the  teaching  of  the  so-called  ancient 
languages.  These  courses  consist,  as  you  will  re- 
member, first  of  the  system  of  the  ancient  lan- 
guages as  such,  the  system  being  treated  of  in  its 
threefold  division  of  etymology,  semasiology,  or 
vocabulary,  and  syntax;  and,  secondly,  in  the 
literature  of  both  nations,  which  is  studied  in  the 
originals  during  the  "  class  reading  ''  of  the  various 
authors.  But  the  importance  of  Antiquity  for 
contemporary  society  is  far  from  being  confined 
to  school  classics.  As  I  said  at  the  outset,  I  see 
in  Antiquity  one  of  the  main  forces  at  work  in 
the  culture  of  European  peoples.  To  estabhsh 
and  define  the  importance  of  Antiquity  for  modern 
culture— that  is  the  task  which  awaits  us  to-day. 
But  before  undertaking  it  let  us  cast  one  last 
look  at  our  schools  and  school  Antiquity.  Have  I 
discussed  or  developed  that  theme  fully  ?  Most 
assuredly  not.  My  survey  made  and  makes  no 
claim  to  exhausting  that  subject.    I  wished  merely 

*  113 


114 


Our  Debt  to  Antiquity 


to  direct  your  attention  to  its  most  important 
aspects,  or,  to  express  myself  more  cautiously,  to 
those  which  seem  to  me  to  be  most  important.  A 
sense  of  duty,  however,  bids  me  consider,  even  if 
briefly,  certain  other  aspects  which  may  seem  of 
most  importance  to  others,  though  I  myself  pur- 
posely omitted  them.  These  are  two  in  number. 
Emphasising,  as  I  did,  the  intellectual  importance 
of  classical  studies,  I  passed  lightly  over  their 
moral  advantages  ;  and  similarly,  when  I  dealt 
with  their  educational  value,  I  disregarded  almost 
entirely  the  utilitarian  element  which  is  closely 
connected  with  it.  We  have  not  time  now  to 
remedy  this  ;  permit  me  simply  to  present  more 
clearly  these  two  aspects. 

I  omitted  the  directly  moral  value  of  classical 
studies  in  education.  Others  might  possibly  have 
sought  to  put  just  this  aspect  prominently  forward. 
They  might  have  reminded  you  that  Antiquity 
has  bequeathed  to  us  immortal  pictures  of  moral 
nobility  and  patriotism  such  as  are  connected  with 
the  names  of  heroes  of  history,  like  Leonidas  and 
Aristides,  Fabricius  and  Regulus,  and,  above  all, 
like  Socrates ;  or,  again,  with  the  characters 
depicted  by  the  creative  imagination  of  poets, 
such  as  Achilles  and  Antigone,  (Edipus  and 
Iphigeneia.  I  am  convinced  that  I  feel  all  this 
as  strongly  as  any  one ;  but  I  did  not  and  still 
do  not  want  to  discuss  it.  I  preferred  to  dwell 
exclusively  on  the  intellectual  side.  Here  we  were 
faced  by  problems  which,  though  not  easy,  were 
still  capable  of  solution.    But  the  process  of  the 


"      S 


Our  Debt  to  Antiquity  115 

moral  action  of  Antiquity  in  this  connection  is 
still  obscure  for  me,  and  I  do  not  see  as  yet  any 
direction  in  which  to  seek  light  on  that  subject. 
Of  course,  the  psychological  science  of  knowledges 
wUl  try  in  time  to  clear  up  that  question  also,  but 
this  science  is  stiU  very  far  away  in  the  future 
If,  therefore,  I  omitted  to  make  any  reference  to 
this  subject,  the  reason  was  not  that  I  under- 
valued its  importance,  but  that  I  felt  my  o\vn 
incompetence  to  deal  with  it. 

But  when  we  come  to  the  practical  utility  of 
classical  studies,  it  is  quite  another  thing     I  for- 
bore to  touch  on  this  point  because  I  consider  it 
as  only  of  secondary  importance.     I  know  that 
many  will  not  agree  with  me.     Every  one  who 
formulates  a  question  of  this  nature:    "What 
advantage  in  life  do  I  gain  from  Latin  and  Greek  ?  '' 
has  in  his  mind  first  of  all,  and  indeed  exclusively 
their  utilitarian  value.     And,  of  course,  in  this 
sense  also  they  are  important  and  might  well 
afford  material  for  at  least  a  whole  lecture.    But 
we  value  our  time,  and  must  perforce  leave  the 
question  of  utility  on  one  side.    StUl,  to  avoid  its 
counting  itself  insulted,  I  shall  try  to  enumerate 
its  various  aspects  briefly  and  without  descend- 
mg  into  particulars.    In  the  first  place,  then  the 
knowledge  of  Latin  is  a  necessary  preliminaiV  to 
a  proper  mastery  of  French  and  of  the  Romance 
languages  generally  ;   it  makes  the  study  of  these 
languages  easier  and  more  intelligible.    Secondly 
it  is  a  necessity  for  a  lawyer  in  view  of  the  im- 
portant part  which  Roman  law  has  played  and 


Ii6 


Our  Debt  to  Antiquity 


still  continues  to  play  in  both  the  development 
of  modern  law  and  in  the  legal  courses  of  our 
universities.  In  the  third  place,  the  knowledge 
of  the  two  ancient  languages  is  indispensable  for 
the  comprehension  of  the  Greek  and  Latin  words 
which  have  been  assimilated  by  the  languages  of 
all  modern  civilised  peoples,  and  more  especially 
in  regard  to  scientific  terminology,  in  which  it 
facilitates  our  apprehension  and  makes  the  words 
intelligible.  This  applies  specially  to  students  of 
medicine  and  of  natural  science.  Fourthly,  his- 
torical and  classical  students  of  the  future  must 
possess  a  knowledge  of  the  classical  languages, 
and  they  themselves  in  their  turn  are  indispens- 
able to  their  country.  Finally,  from  considera- 
tions of  culture,  on  which  I  have  already  touched, 
the  knowledge  of  Greek  is  necessary  for  Russia 
especially,  seeing  that  her  culture  is  of  Byzantine 
origin.*  A  Russian  engaged  without  a  knowledge 
of  Greek  in  researches  in  hterature  or  history  is 
perfectly  inconceivable  if  we  try  to  figure  him  as 
an  independent  and  original  scholar. 

Such,  then,  are  in  brief  the  chief  utihtarian  con- 
siderations in  favour  of  classical  study.  They  might, 
of  course,  be  established,  developed,  and  illustrated 
in  far  greater  detail.  This  were  no  difficult  task, 
and  the  result  would  prove  very  convincing.  But 
firstly,  as  I  said,  we  have  no  time  for  that ;  sec- 
ondly, just  because  of  its  comparative  ease  this 

*  See  Sandys,  "  History  of  Classical  Scholarship,"  ch. 
xxii,  Byzantine  scholarship  from  a.d.  529-1000. 


I 


Our  Debt  to  Antiquity  nj 

task,  more  than  any  other  in  this  connection,  may 
be  left  to  each  individual  for  himself ;  and  thirdly 
we  have  already  had  an  opportunity  of  convincing 
ourselves  that  the  principle  of  utility  in  school 
education  can  play  but  a  subordinate  and  sub- 
sidiary part. 

But  now  let  us  leave  the  school  and  school 
questions.    Let  us  suppose  that  the  pupils,  whether 
on  the  classical  or  modern  side,  have  left  school 
and  entered  real  life.    They  have  adopted  each  his 
special  career  and  now  constitute  educated  society. 
Within    its    circle    an    exchange    of    intellectual 
wares  is  maintained  in  which  all   the   members 
of  society  participate.     The  result  of  this  intel- 
lectual  commerce  forms  the  mental  and  moral 
culture   of  society  at   any  given   period.     Now 
comes  the  question  :    Does  classical  study  form 
an  element  in  this  culture,  and  if  so,  in  what  does 
its  importance  consist  ? 

Before   venturing  to   answer  this   question,    I 
think  it  advisable  to  recall  to  your  memory  the 
corresponding  antithesis,  the  second  of  the  three 
which  I  propounded  at  the  outset  of  these  lec- 
tures.     With  regard    to    classical    study  as  an 
element   of   modern    culture,    I   said,  the   world 
has  largely  made  up  its  mind  that  this  study  is 
practically  valueless,  as  it  has  been  superseded 
long  ago  by  the  achievements  of  modern  thought. 
The  expert,  on  the  other  hand,  will  tell  you  that 
our  intellectual  and  moral  culture  has  never  been 
so  closely  bound  up  with  Antiquity,  has  never 
stood  m  more  pressing  need  of  it,  and  never  been 


ii8 


Our  Debt  to  Antiquity 


Our  Debt  to  Antiquity 


119 


so  qualified  to  comprehend  and  assimilate  it  as 
at  the  present  day.  I  remarked  also  that  the 
first  of  these  two  opinions  is  the  result  of  a  mis- 
understanding. I  will  now  explain  to  you  wherein 
this  misunderstanding  lies. 

The  fact  is  that  many  persons  are  unable  to 
form  any  other  idea  of  the  influence  of  Antiquity 
on  modern  culture  than  one  which  presupposes 
an  avowal  of  the  ancient  world  as  a  model  for  the 
world  of  to-day.  Then  they  proceed  to  ask  in 
what  respects  can  Antiquity  be  regarded  as  a 
model  for  modern  culture.  And  they  answer,  not 
without  reason,  "  In  none."  Can  the  heathen 
religion  of  Antiquity  serve  as  a  model  or  pattern 
for  modern  Christianity  ?  Surely  not.  Can  we 
arrange  the  government  of  our  states  on  the 
analogy  of  those  of  Antiquity,  say  the  Athenian 
Republic  or  the  Roman  Empire  ?  No,  again. 
Can  our  knowledge  of  Nature  and  mankind  be 
enriched  by  an  addition  of  facts  known  to  the 
ancients  and  unknown  to  us  ?  No,  or  only  to  an 
infinitesimal  degree.  Are  we  to  force  modern 
poetry,  architecture,  and  painting  into  the  narrow 
limits  imposed  on  these  three  arts  by  ancient 
technique  ?  No.  What,  then,  is  the  value  of 
Antiquity  for  modern  culture  ? 

Exceedingly  great.  The  fact  is  that  a  theory, 
which  sets  up  d,  priori  a  model  for  imitation,  is 
wrong  not  merely  as  regards  Antiquity,  but  also 
quite  generally.  All  of  us  who  cultivate  the  field 
of  Antiquity  in  the  full  consciousness  of  the  im- 
portance and  value  of  our  work  for  our  contempo- 


raries and  descendants — all  of  us  protest  unani- 
mously against  this  view  which  is  fathered  upon 
us.  The  idea  comes  sometimes  from  allies  whose 
zeal  outruns  their  discretion,  but  more  often  from 
ignorant  or  malicious  foes.  No,  gentlemen,  we 
have  no  idea  of  dragging  you  back  into  the  past  : 
our  gaze  is  directed  forwards  and  not  backwards. 
When  the  oak  sends  its  roots  deep  into  the  earth 
on  which  it  flourishes,  it  is  not  with  the  wish  to 
grow  back  into  the  earth,  but  because  it  is  from 
this  soil  that  it  draws  the  strength  to  rise  to 
heaven  beyond  all  the  herbs  and  trees  which  draw 
their  strength  merely  from  the  surface.  So 
Antiquity  should  be  not  a  model,  but  a  source  of 
quickening  strength  for  modern  culture. 

This  point  of  view  enables  us  to  understand  the 
fact  that  the  human  mind  has  never  been  so  well 
qualified  for  appreciating  and  assimilating  the 
lessons  of  Antiquity  as  at  the  present  moment. 
This  statement  needs,  indeed,  a  corresponding 
supplement— namely,  that  the  lessons  of  Antiquity 
have  never  been  so  qualified  for  being  appreciated 
and  assimilated  by  the  human  mind  as  now.  The 
supplementary  clause,  however,  apphes  not  so 
much  to  Antiquity  itself  as  to  the  "  science  of 
Antiquity,"  and  consideration  of  this  science  must, 
in  accordance  with  our  programme,  be  postponed 
to  the  last  lecture.  There  was  a  time  when  people 
were  ignorant  of  the  history  of  their  own  country 
and  took  no  interest  in  it.  "  You  find  all  that  you 
need  in  ancient  history,"  wrote  Mably,  an  eminent 
man  of  the  period  preceding  the  French  Revolu- 


120 


Our  Debt  to  Antiquity 


Our  Debt  to  Antiquity 


121 


tion.     "  You  need  not  study  modern  history,  in 
which,  in  any  case,  you  will  find  nothing  but  silly 
and  undigested  statements."    At  that  particular 
period  people  looked  to  Antiquity  to  provide  them 
with  models  for  the  present.     But  then  the  his- 
torical instinct  awoke ;  the  study  of  the  history  of 
the  mother  country  drew  men  from  the  study  of 
ancient  history,  but  it  lent  to  ancient  history  a 
new   and  hitherto   unsuspected   importance.     It 
dawned  upon  men  that  the  history  of  the  civilisa- 
tion of  each  one  of  the  modern  nations  formed  a 
tiny  rivulet,  until  Antiquity  discharged  its  broad 
flood  into  it,  bearing  on  its  current  all  the  ideas, 
including  Christianity,  which  feed  our  mind  at  the 
present  day.     Thus,   if  we  adopt  the  historical 
attitude,  we  see  that  each  one  of  us  owns  two 
mother  countries  :  one  the  native  land  after  which 
we  call  ourselves,  the  other  Antiquity.    To  express 
this  idea  in  a  short  formula,  allow  me  to  borrow 
the  terms  of  the  Greek  theologians,  who  distin- 
guished three  component  parts  in  a  man  :    his 
body,  soul,  and  spirit— o-w/xa,  t/'ux^,  Trvcv/xa— and 
to  lay  this  down  :   our  mother  country,  as  regards 
our  body  and  soul,  is  Russia  for  the  Russians, 
Germany  for  the  Germans,  France  for  the  French  ; 
but  our  spiritual  mother  country  is  for  one  and 
all—Antiquity.     The   link   which   connects   and 
unites  all  European  nations  independently  of  their 
national  and  racial  differences  is  their  common 
descent  from  Antiquity.     We  think  ahke ;    and 
hence   we   understand   each   other,    whereas   the 
nations  who  do  not  belong  to  the  circle  of  Euro- 


pean culture  understand  neither  each  other  nor 
ourselves.* 
And  this  fact  has  already  passed  into  the  con- 
}  sciousness  of  the  various  nations,  though  still  in  a 

vastly  insufficient  measure.  They  are  beginning 
more  and  more  to  recognise  in  Antiquity  a  common 
mother  country.  Italy  and  Greece  are  almost  holy 
lands  for  all  of  us.  The  civilised  nations  of  Europe 
try  as  hard  as  each  can  to  secure  some  corner  of 
these  countries  for  purposes  of  research  and  ex- 
cavation. Every  discovery  of  any  importance  in 
ancient  art  and  literature  engages  the  interest  of 
the  whole  civilised  world  ;  whereas  similar  dis- 
coveries in  modern  literature  and  art  seldom  raise 
any  emotion  beyond  the  limits  of  the  countries 
which  they  may  chance  to  concern  directly.  Yes, 
Antiquity,  the  common  mother  country,  is  the 
foundation  of  the  unity  of  European  civilisation, 
and  hence  the  centripetal  forces  of  European 
culture,  on  the  other  hand,  also  tend  directly  or 
indirectly  to  the  advantage  of  classical  study. 
This  position  of  affairs  has  important  bearings  on 
the  attitude  towards  Antiquity  assumed  by  the 
two  parties  into  which  society  is  divided  in  the 
countries  of  European  culture,  the  "  Nationalists  '* 
and  the  "  Europeanists,"  or,  as  they  are  called  in 
Russia,  the  "  Slavophils  "  and  the  **  Occidentals." 
If  a  Nationalist  adopts  a  hostile  attitude  toward 

♦  This  argument  might  be  used  to  throw  light  on  the 
fact  that  so  much  of  the  Russian  spirit  and  literature, 
Dostoyevski  for  example,  is  half  unintelligible  to  Western 
Europe. 


122 


Our  Debt  to  Antiquity 


Our  Debt  to  Antiquity 


123 


Antiquity,  that  shows  merely  his  ignorance  :  he 
either  is  ignorant  of  or  forgets  the  fact  that  the  study 
of  Antiquity  has  formed  from  the  very  earhest 
times  an  element  in  the  culture  of  his  own  nation 
and  that  accordingly  his  scorn  of  Antiquity  dooms 
him  to  Ignorance  of  what  he,  as  a  Nationalist 
would  have  Hked  to  know.  If,  however,  an  Occi- 
dental takes  the  same  view,  he  betrays  a  still 
greater  ignorance ;  he  is  simply  sawing  off  the 
branch  on  which  he  is  sitting. 

Thus  the  development  of  the  history  of  culture 
among  modern  nations  has  shown  what  a  tre- 
mendous   role    the    common    mother    country 
Antiquity,  has  played  in  the  formation  of  their 
intellectual  and  spiritual   quahties.     Is  this  all 
there  is  to  say  ?    No,  not  all.    For  we  might  be 
met  by  a  very  simple  rejoinder— well,  but  what 
is  the  use  of  our  past  ?  Live  in  the  present !    Yes 
of  course ;    but  here  the  natural  sciences  come 
to  the  aid  of   history,  and  biology  refutes  that 
superficial  saw  :    "  What  has  been  is  no  more  " 
No,  gentlemen,  what  has  been  is.     We  cannot 
separate  ourselves  from  our  past,   for  this  past 
hves  m  ourselves,  just  as  the  whole  past  of  a  hoary 
oak  hves  in  it  still,  beginning  with  the  time  when 
It  was  a  tiny  shoot  of  a  year's  growth.     This  is 
true  for  every  individual,  and  still  more  so  for 
societies  or  nations.    We  must  study  our  past  to 
know  ourselves  ;    are  we  not  the  outcome  of  our 
past  ?    And  we  must  know  ourselves,  that  we  may 
guide  our  hves  according  to  reason  and  not  hve 
like  the  brute  beasts,  unconsciously.    Now,  this 


'I 


j 


i 


\ 


learning  is  not  taught  at  school ;  it  is  gained  in 
the  course  of  a  man's  whole  life,  for  it  is  the  out- 
come of  that  same  exchange  of  intellectual  wares 
of  which  I  have  already  spoken. 

Let  us,  however,  proceed  to  particulars — to  the 
elements  of  culture  bequeathed  to  us  by  Antiquity, 
which  we  employ  as  quickening  forces  on  our  own 
culture. 

Of  these  elements  religion,  of  course,  takes  the 
foremost  place.  Antiquity,  however,  has  be- 
queathed to  us  not  one,  but  two  religions — the 
Christian  and  the  heathen,  the  latter  being  the 
religion  of  Antiquity  in  its  narrow  sense.  As  a 
matter  of  fact,  we  cannot  separate  the  idea  of 
Christianity  from  that  of  classical  culture.  In  the 
first  place — though  this  is  not  the  main  reason — 
because  Greek  is  the  language  of  the  oldest 
Christian  writings,  and  language  is,  as  we  have 
seen  already,  the  confession  of  a  people.  Yes, 
Christianity  in  the  form  in  which  it  has  come  down 
to  us  drew  strength  from  the  Greek  people,  as  the 
oak  from  the  soil.  We  cannot  understand  Chris- 
tianity without  studying  its  Greek  records.  Let 
us  take,  for  instance,  the  injunction  about  non- 
resistance  to  evil  which  has  become  so  famous  in 
Russia.*  Did  the  Saviour  really  teach  us  not  to 
resist  evil,  or  merely  not  to  resist  with  evil  ?  It 
is  not  my  business  to  try  to  decide  that  dispute. 

♦  The  cardinal  point  in  the  Tolstoyan  doctrine.  No 
English  writer  has  combated  it  with  such  philosophic 
breadth  and  acuteness  as  the  Russian  thinker  Vladimir 
Solovioff. 


124 


Our  Debt  to  Antiquity 


I  would  only  direct  your  attention  to  this  fact — 
namely,  that  to  come  to  a  decision  you  must  de- 
pend not  on  a  Slavonic  or  Russian  translation, 
but,  of  course,  on  the  Greek  original.  Now,  it 
happens  that  the  Greek  text  is,  indeed,  somewhat 

dubious.     In  the  phrase   /x^   avTia-ry]vaL    n^    Trovrjpil 

the  word  rrovqpi^  is  grammatically  capable  of 
meaning  either  "  against  evil  "  or  "  with  evil." 
You  will  remember,  if  any  of  you  have  read  Lies- 
kovski's  "  Kolivanski  mujz,"  the  great  theological 
discovery  which  the  baron  communicated  to  his 
nephew,  the  hero  of  the  book — namely,  that  in 
the  Lord's  prayer  the  true  reading  is  not  our 
nastischtchniy  (daily)  bread,  but  nadsiischtchniy, 
that  is  to  say,  spiritual.  Such,  he  urged,  was  the 
meaning  of  the  Greek  cVioiVios-  The  poor  hero, 
in  his  bewilderment,  is  quite  at  a  loss  for  an  answer. 
Had  he  known  Greek,  however,  he  might  easily 
have  refuted  his  uncle's  heresy  by  showing  that 
nadsuschtchniywoxA^  have  been  in  Greek  wf/ooixrios, 
or  rather,  perhaps,  vTrcpovo-iaKos,  and  could  not 
have  been  linova-ios.  These  instances  may  show 
the  importance  of  Greek  for  an  educated  Christian. 
I  have  noticed  them,  however,  merely  incidentally  : 
our  real  purpose  is  different. 

I  connected  Christianity  with  Antiquity  not  only 
because  Greek  was  the  language  of  original  Chris- 
tianity, but  chiefly  because  the  two  are  connected 
by  their  common  development  and  spirit.  Chris- 
tianity was,  of  course,  the  complement  of  the 
Hebraic  law  and  the  Old  Testament  prophecies ; 
but  it  was  also  the  complement  in  at  least  an 


Our  Debt  to  Antiquity 


125 


equal   degree   of  the  immemorial  struggles   and 
aspirations  of  the  nations  of  Antiquity.    This  fact 
was  not  appreciated  by  former  critics,  and  hence 
the  second  religion,  the  religion  of  Antiquity  in 
its  narrow  sense,  was  deemed  useless  and,  indeed, 
harmful.    In  the  present  day,  however,  it  is  fairly 
well  known  and  carefully  studied.    We  bow  before 
the  sublime  conceptions  of  this  religion  of  the 
ancient  heathens.     We  read  with  genuine  rever- 
ence  the  prayer  to  Zeus  in  iEschylus— I  cited  a 
passage  from  it  in  a  former  lecture— in  which  the 
chorus  thank  God  "  whoever  he  may  be,  for  that 
he  has  directed  mankind  to  the  way  of  knowledge 
by  putting  into  force  the  maxim  :     *  Learn  by 
suffering.'    And  lo  !   in  the  night  season  comes  in 
place   of    sleep  unsleeping    care    and   pulses   at 
our  hearts  with  never-ceasing  drops,   and  even 
against  our  wills  we  learn  to  be  righteous.    Such 
is  the  grace  (x«P'«)  granted  to  mankind  by  God, 
who  sits  in  his  might  at  the  sacred  rudder  of  the 

universe." 

As  you  see,  I  make  a  distinction  between  the 
religion  and  the  mythology  of  the  ancients,  which 
were  formerly  regarded  as  identical.  Of  course, 
there  are  certain  myths  which  are  the  bearers  of 
religious  doctrines  as  well.  But  the  majority  of 
these  myths  have  for  us,  as  they  had  for  the 
ancients,  only  an  aesthetic  or  ethical  interest. 
What  is  to  be  said  about  this  ancient  or,  to  speak 
more  correctly,  this  Greek  mythology  ?  Would 
that  I  had  the  gift  of  our  great  national  poet  to 
describe  that  mythological  world  to  you  in  colours 


126 


Our  Debt  to  Antiquity 


of  life  and  reality,  the  rustle  of  the  evergreen  oak 
of  Greek  saga,  that  grew  in  the  oldest  of  Greek 
sanctuaries,  the  storm-encircled  Dodona  !  *  What 
a  treasure-house  of  marvellous  pictures  !  There 
wrathful  Achilles  gazes  with  beating  heart  on  his 
countrymen's  blazing  ships,  a  satisfaction  to  his 
wounded  dignity ;  there  old  King  Priam,  to 
ransom  his  son's  corpse,  kisses  meekly  the  slayer's 
hand  ;  there  Odysseus,  long-suffering  wanderer, 
wearies  for  his  distant  land  and  prizes  not  a 
goddess'  favours ;  there  bold  Jason  musters  his 
hero-band  for  the  wondrous  raid  into  golden 
Colchis  ;  there  faithful  Orpheus  descends  into  the 
abode  of  death  to  beg  his  Eurydice  from  the  Queen 
of  Shades.  There  we  see  the  proud  martyr  Antigone 
bartering  her  hfe  for  the  privilege  of  paying  a  debt 
of  love  to  her  dead  brother ;  there  the  gentle 
Iphigeneia  submitting  willingly  to  death  for  her 
father's  glory  ;  there  jealous  Medea  slaughtering 
her  children  in  the  madness  of  her  revenge  ;  there 
the  stone  effigy  of  the  once  blessed  Niobe  weeping 
over  her  shattered  happiness. 

These  figures  have  never  perished.  They  capti- 
vated the  greatest  spirits  of  Antiquity,  as  long  as 
that  Antiquity  had  hfe.  After  its  death  they  were 
taken  over  by  the  Middle  Ages  to  receive  a  new 
lease  of  life,  partly  with  the  same  names,  partly 
with  new  titles.  Venus,  the  Queen  of  Beauty, 
entices  knights  into  her  magic  grotto  ;   the  stout 

♦  A  reference  to  Pushkin's  "  Ruslam  and  Ludmilla," 
which  deals  with  personages  of  Russian  mythology. 
GUnka's  famous  opera  is  founded  on  this  poem. 


Our  Debt  to  Antiquity 


127 


mariner  Odysseus  sails  far  over  the  ocean  till  his 
bark  founders  on  the  perpendicular  rock  of  Purga- 
tory ;  Circe,  the  sorceress,  under  the  name  of 
Armida,  seeks  to  hold  back  the  Crusaders  from 
their  sacred  exploits  ;  Helen  leaves  the  Greek 
heroes  for  the  heroic  thoughts  of  Faust.  And 
ever  richer  grows  the  wreath  of  poetry  that  en- 
circles the  brow  of  the  Greek  legendary  figures. 
Each  succeeding  epoch  of  modern  times  has  added 
to  it  new  blossoms.  Achilles  and  OEdipus,  Antigone 
and  Medea — these  are  no  longer  Greek  figures  ; 
the  love  of  humanity  as  a  whole  has  adopted  them. 
And,  as  belonging  to  humanity,  they  have  come 
down  to  us  and  to-day  are  ours,  the  most  glorious 
inheritance  bequeathed  to  us  by  our  spiritual 
country.  And  our  spirits  unite  with  them  not 
merely  to  our  pleasure  but  to  our  instruction. 
These  figures,  after  passing  through  the  furnace 
of  the  world's  history,  have  lost  the  fleeting, 
transitory,  and  we  might  almost  say  earthly, 
character  which  stamped  them  at  the  beginning  ; 
they  have  now  become  but  embodiments  of  ideas, 
of  inestimable  value  to  the  poet-thinker.  And  not 
merely  to  him.  I  have  said  already  that  these 
figures  unite  with  the  creations  of  modern  times 
and  live  on  in  our  own  day,  though  under  changed 
names.  The  hapless  Orestes,  oppressed  with  the 
duty  of  blood  vengeance,  survives  on  our  stage  in 
the  person  of  the  Danish  prince  Hamlet ;  but  this 
is  only  the  smallest  fraction  of  the  whole.  How 
many  high-spirited  female  martyrs  owe  their 
origin  to  Antigone  !    How  many  brooding  plotters 


128 


Our  Debt  to  Antiquity 


Our  Debt  to  Antiquity 


129 


to  Medea  !  Even  their  creators  are  often  ignorant 
of  this  fact,  and  imagine  that  they  are  hearkening 
to  the  voice  of  their  own  soul.  They  do  not  know 
that  this  voice  is  still  the  same  rustle  of  the  ever- 
green oak  of  Greek  legend,  that  grew  in  the 
sacred  grove  of  Pelasgic  Zeus  in  storm-encircled 
Dodona. 

Mythology  forms  the  contents  of  an  important 
part  of  ancient  poetry,  and  so  leads  us  by  a 
natural  process  from  the  religion  of  the  ancients 
to  their  literature.  Ancient  literature,  however, 
concerns  us  not  merely  on  account  of  its  contents, 
but  on  account  of  its  form  and,  above  all,  of  its 
spirit.  With  regard  to  its  form,  I  beg  you  to 
remember  that  the  ancient  classics  have  created 
all  the  various  types  vital  to  modern  literature. 
I  mean  literally  created,  for  they  did  not  exist 
previously  ;  and  created  them,  moreover,  not  by 
one  sudden  effort  but  in  due  succession  and  in  an 
orderly  process  of  organic  development. 

And  here  I  would  like  to  ask  every  one  who  is 
interested  in  hterature — and  who  is  not  nowadays  ? 
— ^what  are  his  views  respecting  these  types  of 
literature  of  unknown  origin  which  he  meets  in 
his  hfe.  Why  do  we  possess  precisely  these 
types— tragedy,  comedy,  novels,  tales,  lyric  poetry, 
epigrams,  and  so  on — and  not  other  types  ?  Why 
are  rhyme  and  metre  indispensable  for  some  kinds 
of  literature  and  metre  only  for  others,  whereas 
others  again  need  neither  rhyme  nor  metre  ? 
What,  I  repeat,  are  the  views  of  any  one  interested 
in  literature  when  confronted  with  these  facts  ? 


Well,  I  suppose,  most  people,  if  they  were  to 
answer  honestly,  would  say  :  "  We  have  none." 
And  it  is  true  that  whoever  lives  only  in  the  pre- 
sent soon  loses  the  habit  of  thought,  for  thought 
implies  the  connecting  cause  and  effect,  and  the 
cause  of  the  present  lies  in  the  past.  But  let  us 
take  a  thoughtful  person.  If  he  is  anxious  to 
explain  the  reason,  he  will  probably  turn  to  the 
science  of  literature,  the  theory  of  writing.  He 
will  speedily  be  undeceived.  The  theory  of 
literature,  regarded  as  a  science,  is  reserved  for 
the  future  ;  at  present  it  classifies  and  illustrates 
rather  than  explains.  No.  For  a  reflective  person 
there  is  at  present  only  one  path  available.  The 
question  as  to  the  sense  of  the  different  types  of 
literature  can  be  answered  only  by  the  history 
of  their  origin  and  development — that  is  to  say, 
by  ancient  literature. 

In  this  field  we  are  able  to  see  clearly  how  the 
lyrical-epic  primitive  germ  gives  rise  to,  first  of  aU, 
epic  poetry.  As  writing  had  not  been  invented, 
memory  was  the  only  storehouse  for  all  the  stock 
of  man's  necessary  knowledge,  and  metre  and 
melody  had  to  be  called  in  as  memory's  hand- 
maids. Thus  the  whole  circle  of  man's  necessary 
knowledge  began  to  be  embodied  in  the  epos — the 
exploits  of  the  gods  and  of  ancestors,  prophecies, 
laws,  exhortations  regarding  life  and  work.  Hence 
it  was  that  epic  poetry  parted  into  two  branches — 
the  heroic  and  the  didactic.  The  development  of 
music  led  to  the  complication  of  metres ;  from 
the  epos  developed  l)n:ical  poetry  with  all  its 

K 


/ 


I30 


Our  Debt  to  Antiquity 


Our  Debt  to  Antiquity 


131 


various  branches — elegy,  ballad  poetry,  the  lay, 
the  ode.  Lyrical  poetry  spread  its  influence  ever 
wider  and  wider,  until  at  last  it  absorbed  the  epos 
and  produced  in  common  with  it  the  drama, 
tragedy,  and  comedy.  But  at  the  same  time  the 
art  of  writing  was  becoming  more  and  more 
common.  The  result  is  prose.  Prose  now  com- 
petes with  poetry  as  the  storehouse  of  indispens- 
able knowledge.  It  is  still  felt,  however,  that 
poetry  commands  advantages  denied  to  prose  ;  its 
metrical  character  corresponds  more  closely  with 
the  emotional  moods  of  the  human  soul  than  the 
even  flow  of  its  rival.  So  poetry  continues  to 
express  the  emotional  and  passionate  side  of 
human  nature,  leaving  the  intellectual  side  to 
prose.  Epic  poetry  passes  away,  historical  and 
philosophical  prose  take  its  place.  But  Hfe  as- 
sumes ever  new  developments  ;  the  law-courts 
are  the  scene  of  as  furious  passions  as  the  popular 
assemblies.  Thus  there  arises  a  new  branch  of 
prose  which  finds  room  for  passion — namely,  the 
oratorical.  Through  this  element  of  passion 
oratorical  prose  draws  near  to  poetry.  It  adopts 
a  kind  of  metre  which  is  called  prose  rhythm.  It 
turns  its  attention  to  the  harmonious  division  of 
its  periods,  and  here  and  there,  when  it  wishes  to 
leave  a  stronger  impression  than  usual,  it  marks 
these  divisions  by  rhyme. — With  this  lyrical  ele- 
ment oratorical  prose  threatened  poetry  with 
extinction,  but  this  calamity  was  postponed  thanks 
to  the  love  which  the  Greeks  cherished  for  their 
past  after  their  loss  of  political  independence. 


Then  came  the  rise  of  the  romantic  poetry  of  the 
so-called  Alexandrian  period.  This  poetry  recalled 
to  life  the  earher  types  of  poetry,  and  added  to 
them  that  hitherto  unknown  genuine  expression 
of  the  romantic  mood,  the  idyll.  Meantime  litera- 
ture had  found  its  way  to  Rome.  This  migration 
also  led  to  the  reappearance  of  discarded  types  of 
poetry,  though  now  in  the  Latin  language,  and 
to  the  creation  of  a  new  type,  the  natural  product 
of  the  contact  of  an  exotic  culture  and  native 
barbarism — namely,  the  Roman  satire. — But,  in 
spite  of  all,  the  triumph  of  prose  over  poetry  was 
merely  postponed.  Fully  conscious  of  its  strength, 
prose  forced  its  way  from  the  world  of  reality  into 
the  domain  of  imagination,  which  had  hitherto 
been  reserved  for  poetry.  The  result  was  the 
novel  and  the  tale,  the  latest  offspring  of  classical 
literature. — Another  circumstance  also  led  to  the 
triumph  of  prose.  In  the  first  Christian  epoch  the 
quantitative  value  of  syllables,  which  had  been 
characteristic  of  the  ancient  languages,  and  on 
which  the  whole  system  of  ancient  scansion 
depends,  began  to  be  abandoned.  Thus,  when  a 
new  form  of  popular  poetry  was  called  for,  owing 
to  various  causes,  among  them  being  the  influence 
of  Christianity,  the  form  of  the  new  type  of  poetry 
was  borrowed  partly  from  ancient  poetry  but 
mainly  from  rhythmical  prose.  The  characteristic 
property  of  the  latter,  the  harmonious  division, 
marked  by  rhyme,  of  its  periods,  now  became  the 
characteristic  feature  of  this  new  poetry  also.  And 
thus  arose  a  late  classical  poetry  which  lasted  all 


132 


Our  Debt  to  Antiquity 


through  the  Middle  Ages  :  "  Stabat  mater  dolorosa 
luxta  cnicem  lacrimosa,"  and  all  the  rest.*  And 
this  is  precisely  the  form  of  poetry  which  has  con- 
quered all  the  nations  of  European  culture  and 
has  expelled  the  rude  native  forms  which  were 
incapable  of  development.  We,  the  nations  of 
modem  Europe,  all  share  in  this  legacy,  and  the 
remark  applies  to  even  our  popular  poetry. — It  is 
true  that  many  attempts  have  been  made  to  re- 
place these  ancient  forms  of  poetry  by  others 
borrowed  from  the  poetry  of  other  than  the 
classical  peoples,  such  as  the  Hindoos  or  the 
Arabs  ;  but  all  such  attempts  have  proved  fail- 
ures. And  what  is  more,  our  neighbours  the 
Germans  have  never  succeeded  in  even  resusci- 
tating their  immemorial  type  of  poetry,  the 
alliterative.  Sometimes,  indeed,  it  has  been  imi- 
tated with  great  success,  especially  by  Wagner  in 
his  famous  trilogy,  "  Helle  Wehr,  Heilige  Waffe, 
Hilf  meinem  ewigen  Eide  !  "  None  the  less,  its 
horizon  is  extremely  narrow.  Its  use  is  impossible 
beyond  the  circle  of  German  sagas  ;  neither  Faust 
nor  the  Jungfrau  von  Orleans  could  have  been 
written  in  that  form. 

Thus,  as  regards  types  and  forms,  we  draw  on 
ancient  literature  right  down  to  the  present  day. 

*  Even  in  classical  times  a  liking  for  rhyme  manifested 
itself,  as  frequently  in  Ovid,  e.g.  "Quot  caelum  stellas 
tot  habet  tua  Roma  puellas."  Distinct  traces  of  the 
adoption  of  rhyme  are  to  be  seen  as  early  as  the  hymns 
of  Hilary  of  Poictiers  (died  367),  and  the  system  attained 
its  highest  development  in  the  twelfth  and  thirteenth 
centuries.     See  Chambers's  Encyclopaedia,  s.v.  Rhyme. 


Our  Debt  to  Antiquity 


133 


Modern  writers  have  in  some  ways  simphfied  them, 
in  others  complicated  them,  but  have  added  to 
them  nothing  essentially  new.  I  spoke,  however, 
of  the  spirit  of  ancient  literature  as  well  as  its 
forms,  and  you  doubtless  guess  for  yourselves  that 
it  is  this  spirit  which  is  the  most  important  in- 
heritance bequeathed  to  us  by  Antiquity.  Yes, 
indeed.  Only  I  must  study  brevity  here  more 
than  anywhere,  even  at  the  risk  of  omitting  some 
very  important  aspects  of  my  theme.  I  must 
content  myself  with  citing  two  examples.  I  refer 
to  the  spirit  of  ancient  history  and  the  spirit  of 
ancient  philosophy,  both  of  which  we  will  con- 
sider, of  course,  only  as  types  of  literature. 

Historical  composition  was  practised  by  others 
besides  the  two  classical  nations.  The  peoples  of 
the  East  and  the  Hebrews  cultivated  it  as  well. 
But  in  the  hands  of  Oriental  nations  it  served 
quite  a  special  aim  —  namely,  the  glorification  of 
the  exploits,  victories,  and  buildings  of  their 
rulers ;  their  defeats  and  disgraces  were  never 
chronicled.  The  mainspring  of  Jewish  history  was 
another  purpose — to  testify  to  the  unremitting 
care  of  the  God  of  Sabaoth,  who  rewarded  His 
chosen  people  when  they  kept  His  commandments 
and  punished  them  when  they  disobeyed.  Its  aim 
was  to  trace  wherever  possible  the  finger  of  God. 
It  is  among  the  ancient  Greeks  that  we  first  find 
the  conception  of  historical  truth.  This  simply 
as  such  would  have  seemed  unmeaning  to  the 
historians  of  the  East  and  of  Israel  also.  Why 
does  Herodotus  write  his  history  ?     "In  order 


134 


Our  Debt  to  Antiquity 


that  the  memory  of  the  deeds  of  mankind  should 
not  perish,  and  that  the  great  and  marvellous 
achievements  aUke  of  Hellenes  and  Barbarians 
should  not  lose  their  renown."  Mark,  Barbarians 
as  well  as  Hellenes  !  The  historian  stands  above 
all  nationahty.  It  is,  indeed,  nobility  as  such 
which  interests  him,  which  claims  its  due  reward 
from  him  and  receives  it  quite  independently  of 
the  performer's  race.  Of  course,  every  detail  in 
Herodotus  is  not  correct.  Mythical  stories  are 
told,  but  with  a  good-natured  naivete  and  no  evil 
intention.  How  could  he,  indeed,  not  tell  them  ? 
In  his  time  historical  criticism  was  just  in  its  in- 
fancy. Historical  criticism  !  .  .  .  And  there  I 
have  touched  on  the  next  aspect  of  the  case. 
When  I  spoke  in  my  last  lecture  of  the  feehng  for 
truth,  I  pointed  out  to  you  that  this  feehng  em- 
braced two  separate  demands  :  firstly,  "  See  that 
your  words  correspond  with  your  judgment,"  that 
is  to  say,  "  Speak  the  truth  "  ;  secondly,  "  See 
that  your  judgment  corresponds  with  the  truth," 
that  is,  "  Do  not  make  mistakes."  Now,  the  first 
demand  Herodotus  satisfied.  It  was  reserved  for 
his  successor,  Thucydides,  to  satisfy  the  second. 
He  is  not  content  with  the  mere  correct  reproduc- 
tion of  what  he  has  heard.  He  endeavours  in 
every  possible  way  to  test  it.  He  compares  the 
assertions  of  the  Athenians  with  those  of  the 
Spartans,  the  Corinthians,  and  so  on.  In  this  way 
he  hopes  to  arrive  at  historical  truth.  Such  is  his 
method  of  verifying  his  facts.  Still,  this  is  in 
itself  a  comparatively  easy  proceeding.    The  his- 


Our  Debt  to  Antiquity 


135 


torian  is,  however,  not  merely  a  narrator,  but  also 
a  judge.     And  how  does  Thucydides  deliver  his 
historical  judgments  ?      In  a  way  in  which  we 
could  not  hope  for  an  improvement.    When  he  is 
confronted  with   two  opposed  and  irreconcilable 
points  of  view,  he  develops  first  one  and  then  the 
other  in  the  form  of  disputations  held  between  the 
representatives  of  both  sides.    Speeches  certainly 
occur  in  Herodotus,  but  with  him  they  serve  merely 
to  enliven  agreeably  his  narrative.    With  Thucy- 
dides they  serve  to  promote  the  main  end  of  his 
work— namely,    the    manifestation    of    historical 
truth.    Not  all  his  successors,  of  course,  followed 
his  example.    In  the  fourth  century  we  meet  with 
attempts  to  subordinate  historical  accuracy  to 
patriotism  and  mere  interest  of  narrative  ;  but  in 
serious  historical  writing  the  great  principle  of 
Thucydides'  work  remained  unimpaired.    In  the 
second  century   Polybius  wrote  the  remarkable 
words  which  he  followed  in  practice  :    "  Truth  is 
the  eye  of  history  "  (i.  14).    In  the  first  century  B.C. 
Cicero  summed  up  neatly  the  chief  claims  to  be 
made  on  history  as  follows  :    "  Ne  quid  falsi  au- 
deat,  ne  quid  veri  non  audeat  historia,"  words 
which  still  figure  as  a  motto  on  the  title-page  of 
the  most  serious  historical  journal  of  our  age,  the 
French  "  Revue  historique."    A  hundred  and  fifty 
years  later  Tacitus  repeated  approximately  the 
same  claim  with  his  famous  '*  Sine  ira  et  studio." 
Such  is  the  spirit  of  ancient  historical  writing. 
Well,  are  we  now  to  reproach  their  method  for 
seeming  obsolete  to  us  in  this  or  that  respect, 


136 


Our  Debt  to  Antiquity 


for  devoting  too  much  attention  to  foreign  politics 
and  too  little  to  economical  and  social  questions  ? 
Such  criticism  would  fairly  apply,  supposing  that 
scholars,  such  as  we  claim  ourselves  to  be,  wished 
to   recommend   the   ancient   method   of   writing 
history  as  a  model  for  the  present  day.     I  have, 
however,  already  protested  against  any  such  in- 
sinuation, and  I  do  so  again.     No  !     Antiquity 
should  be  considered  not  as  a  model,  but  as  a 
seed  plot.     We  should  take  and  plant  this  seed 
of  historical  truth  in  our  own  soil  that  it  might 
grow  into  a  tree  of  true  historical  composition  in 
modern  times.     It  was  this  point  of  view  which 
led  one  of  the  greatest   historians  of  our  age, 
Ranke,  to  style  himself  a  pupil  of  Thucydides. 

And  it  is  my  firm  belief  that  we  have  never 
needed  this  seed  so  strongly  as  to-day.    To-day, 
more  than  ever  before,  historical  truth,  that  eye 
of  history,  as  Polybius  called  it,  is  threatened  with 
danger    from    its  two  sworn    foes,   nationahsm 
on  the  one  hand  and  party  spirit  on  the  other. 
The  import  of  this  it  is  not  hard  to  understand. 
I  do  not  know  whether  you  are  all  aware  of  what 
some   writers   mean    by    "Hottentot   morality.*' 
The  phrase  was  originated  by  an  anecdote  which 
is  perhaps  not  very  credible.     A  Hottentot  was 
asked  by  a  missionary  what  was  the  difference 
between  good  and  evil.    "  \i  my  neighbour  steals 
my  wife,"  he  answered,  "  that  is  evil ;   if  I  steal 
my  neighbour's  wife,  that  is  good."    Now  you  will 
understand  that  this  Hottentot  principle  manifests 
itself  not  merely  in  private  relations  between  in- 


Our  Debt  to  Antiquity 


137 


dividuals — there  it  is  comparatively  harmless, 
and  we  can  afford  to  laugh  at  it — but  also  in  the 
sphere  of  national  and  party  concerns,  where  it  is 
far  more  harmful.  Suppose  that  a  Spaniard  cham- 
pions enthusiastically  the  cause  of  his  fellow- 
countrymen  oppressed  in  Portugal,  but  boils  with 
indignation  when  Portugal,  in  her  turn,  protests 
against  the  oppression  of  Portuguese  in  Spain; 
suppose,  again,  that  the  same  Spaniard,  as  a  good 
Republican,  approves  of  the  Government's  action 
in  forbidding  a  Carlist  demonstration,  but  next 
day  abuses  the  Government  for  suppressing 
Republican  demonstrations,  then  he  fancies  that 
in  all  these  cases  his  judgments  are  fully  sound  and 
reasonable.  My  opinion,  on  the  other  hand,  is 
that  they  are  merely  Hottentot— in  the  first  case 
based  on  national,  in  the  second  case  on  party 
considerations. 

And  still  I  should  say  that  as  long  as  this  Hotten- 
tot morality  affects  only  our  adults  in  their 
national  and  party  squabbles,  this  is  by  itself 
not  very  serious.  If  I  am  told  that  these  things 
are  unavoidable,  I  shall  not  dispute  the  state- 
ment. But,  as  you  know,  our  Spaniards  are  not 
content  with  this.  They  demand  that  all  history, 
as  far  as  it  is  written  by  and  for  Spaniards,  should 
bear  certain  corresponding  characteristics  to  show 
that  it  was  written  by  a  Spaniard  and  not  by  a 
Portuguese.  This  makes  me  think  sorrowfully  of 
Thucydides.  He  began  his  work  with  the  words  : 
"  Thucydides,  an  Athenian,  has  written  this  his- 
tory of  the  war  between  the  Peloponnesians  and 


138 


Our  Debt  to  Antiquity 


the  Athenians."  And  it  is  fortunate  that  he  did, 
for  without  these  words,  judging  simply  by  the 
character  and  tendency  of  his  history,  no  one  could 
guess  of  what  city  the  author  was,  whether  Athens 
or  Sparta  or  Corinth.  But  what  are  we  to  do  ? 
History,  to  maintain  its  Spanish  character,  must 
obviously  close  her  "eye"  for  all  the  period 
covered  by  modern  times.  Let  us  console  our- 
selves, then,  with  the  thought  that  truth  will  find 
a  refuge  in  ancient  history  at  any  rate  which  cannot 
be  written  from  a  Spanish  point  of  view.  And, 
indeed,  that  fact  is  a  reason  for  self-congratula- 
tions. I  would  never  endorse  the  saying  of 
Mably,  which  I  quoted,  about  ancient  and  modern 
history.  It  is,  however,  beyond  doubt  that  at 
the  present  day  the  study  of  ancient  history  is  of 
pecuhar  moral  importance.  In  estimating  it  we 
do  not  judge  on  k  priori  prepossessions.  We  admire 
good  men  and  deeds,  we  are  shocked  by  bad  men 
and  deeds,  without  pausing  to  enquire  after  the 
nation  which  was  responsible  for  the  deeds  or  doers 
in  question.  Our  Hottentot  ethics  have  no  place 
here.  The  more  we  study  ancient  history,  the 
more  we  learn  to  be  just.  But  this  fact  is  precisely 
what  it  does  not  suit  our  Spaniards  to  admit. 
They  demand  the  elimination  of  all  ancient  history 
from  our  schools,  or  at  least  its  reduction  in  favour 
of  modern  history,  especially  Spanish  !  .  .  .  You 
have  understood,  of  course,  already  that  I  speak 
here  of  Spaniards  merely  because  they  live  far 
away  and  will  never  find  out  what  I  have  said 
about  them,  and  consequently  will  not  feel  in- 


( 


k' 


I 


Our  Debt  to  Antiquity 


139 


suited.  Even  as  it  is,  in  these  lectures  I  have 
already  "  insulted  "  so  many  people  that  I  need 
seek  no  more  victims  !  No  ;  let  us  return  to  our- 
selves. Consider  all  those  claims  which  are  made 
upon  our  school  instruction  in  history  !  It  must 
plant  in  the  pupil's  mind  the  spirit  of  patriotism, 
the  spirit  of  this,  that,  and  the  next  virtues.  I 
fear,  however,  that  nothing  profitable  will  grow 
up  from  all  this  planting,  and  that  in  the  process 
the  "eye  of  history  "  may  be  irretrievably  damaged. 
No  !  if  it  depended  on  me,  I  would,  as  a  man 
nurtured  on  Antiquity,  say  modestly  but  em- 
phatically :  "  Instruction  in  history  must  plant  in 
the  pupil's  mind  the  spirit  of  truth  and  justice  " — 
and  then  ...  I  would  put  a  full  stop. 


LECTURE    VI 

MY  preceding  lecture  I  closed  with  an  analysis 
and  characterisation  of  that  which  I  called 
the  spirit  of  ancient  history  writing.  I  now  pass 
to  the  spirit  of  ancient  philosophy.  I  must  first 
warn  you,  however,  that  this  subject  also  we  will, 
for  the  time  being,  consider  not  as  philosophy, 
properly  speaking,  but  merely  as  a  type  of  litera- 
ture just  as  we  discussed  its  sister  subject. 

Let  us  grant,  for  a  moment,  that  all  the  subject- 
matter  of  Plato's  philosophy  is  not  only  untrue, 
but  positively  absurd,  that  it  is  absolutely  value- 
less for  us.  Well,  are  we  to  stow  away  his  dialogues 
in  musty  archives  ?  No  !  Their  importance  as 
works  of  literature  is  independent  of  their  philo- 
sophical results.  What  feature  in  them  most  strikes 
a  reader  who  is  at  all  thoughtful  ?  Not  their 
deductions,  but  the  method  whereby  these  deduc- 
tions are  attained.  For  the  sake  of  clearness  let 
us  compare  Greek  philosophical  as  well  as  historical 
literature  with  the  works  which  correspond  to  it 
among  nations  uninfluenced  by  Greek  civilisation, 
the  Hindoos,  the  peoples  of  the  so-called  civilised 
East,  the  Jews.  Among  them,  also,  you  find 
extremely  profound  doctrines.  Nobody  can  adopt 
an   air  of  superiority  towards  the  teaching  of 

140 


Our  Debt  to  Antiquity 


141 


\ 


\ 


Buddha  or  the  Old  Testament  prophets.  But  it  is 
among  the  Greeks  that  we  find  a  feature  which 
they  first  introduced  into  the  process  of  human 
thought — namely,  the  conviction  which  is  diffused 
throughout  their  philosophy  that  every  position 
is  true  as  far  as  it  has  been  proved.  Nay,  more ; 
it  is  presupposed  that  the  only  criterion  for  a 
thinker  is  whether  an  argument  be  proved  or  not 
proved,  and  that  once  it  has  been  proved  beyond 
doubt,  this  should  form  his  defence  against  all 
the  antipathies  which  the  world  at  large  may  feel. 
"How  !  You  assert  so  and  so,"  Socrates'  friend  says 
to  him,  outraged  by  his  conclusions.  "  Oh,  no  !  " 
Socrates  answers ;  "  it  is  not  I  who  make  these 
assertions,  but  Logos.  I  am  merely  its  instrument. 
If  you  are  pleased  by  what  Logos  proves  through 
my  mouth,  so  much  the  better ;  if  displeased, 
then  don't  blame  me,  blame  Logos,  or  still  better, 
yourself." 

Now  this  attitude  requires,  as  a  consequence, 
that  you  should  argue  with  a  man,  and  argue  him 
over  into  changing  his  views.  Logos  sets  us  serious, 
sometimes,  indeed,  burdensome  conditions.  You 
must  accept  a  position,  however  unpleasant  for 
you,  once  it  is  proved ;  you  must  reject  a  con- 
viction, however  dear  to  you,  once  it  is  refuted — 
there  is  the  thinker's  code  of  honour.  If  you  are 
unwilling  to  accept  it,  you  will  be  but  a  sheep  in  a 
flock  of  sheep,  a  slave  under  a  master's  power,  and 
not  a  free  citizen  of  the  community  of  spirit. 
And  so  refute  and  prove,  but  do  not  complain  or 
abuse  your  opponent  or  fly  into  a  passion.     And 


142 


Our  Debt  to  Antiquity 


look  well  after  all  your  arguments,  positive  and 
negative,  that  they  be  really  proved.  Very  often 
sympathy  or  antipathy  perverts  our  judgment 
and  inchnes  it  to  accept  the  most  frivolous  con- 
siderations as  valid  truths.  That  should  not  be. 
An  unproved  assertion  in  argument,  suggested  by 
some  sympathy,  corresponds  to  an  unfair  thrust 
in  a  duel.  Whoever  stoops  to  either  breaks  the 
code  of  honour. 

Yes,  the  change  of  views  under  persuasion,  that 
is  the  seed  which  ancient  philosophy  holds  in  itself, 
and  ancient  philosophy  alone.  And  that  seed  must 
enter  each  one  of  us  if  we  would  stand  in  conscious 
relations  towards  the  phenomena  of  hfe  and  pass 
out  of  the  mists  of  prejudices.  Unfortunately,  in 
contemporary  mankind,  the  ground  for  that  seed 
is  very  unpromising.  We  are  all  of  us,  according 
to  our  inheritance,  more  or  less  voluntarists.  In- 
tellectualism  is  only  a  thin  alluvial  layer  of  black 
earth  in  the  structure  of  our  minds.  Our  minds 
may  be  tuned  and  tuned  again.  The  conditions  and 
circumstances  of  our  hves  influence  us  funda- 
mentally. But  then,  all  that  is  the  direct 
opposite  of  a  change  of  opinion  for  intellectual 
reasons. 

And  now,  in  discussing  this  last  with  you,  I  am 
afraid  of  one  thing  above  all — lest  you  translate 
my  words  into  the  voluntarist  vocabulary  and 
confuse  the  change  of  conviction  I  speak  of  with 
what  I  will  permit  myself  to  call  vacillation,  that 
infallible  sign  of  moral  or  mental  weakness.  The 
point  is  not  at  all  that  a  man  should  merely  change 


Our  Debt  to  Antiquity 


143 


I  •■<.„^ 


his  opinions.  That  is  an  everyday  phenomenon 
and  not  worth  mention.  At  every  step,  as  he 
passes  from  one  set  of  conditions  to  another,  a 
man  changes  his  persuasions,  not  suddenly,  of 
course,  but  by  degrees.  This  is  true  of  pohtical 
persuasion  especially.  In  regard  to  this  sphere  of 
thought  such  metamorphoses  take  place  with  a 
regularity  that  f  aUs  but  little  behind  the  well-known 
metamorphoses  of  insects.  All  round  us  we  see 
the  most  radical  larvae  turning  into  the  most 
magnificent  reactionary  butterflies.  You  will  not 
suspect  me,  I  trust,  of  commending  metamorphoses 
of  this  nature  while  I  refer  to  change  of  opinion. 
No,  quite  the  contrary  ;  such  a  process  is  its  direct 
enemy.  And  yet  not  its  only  enemy.  Its  other 
foe  is  that  position  which  is  customarily  defined  in 
the  voluntarist  language  by  the  respectable  term 
stability  of  conviction,  whereas  our  intellectual 
phraseology  brands  it  as  mental  stagnation  and 
obtuseness.  From  our  point  of  view,  as  much 
censure  must  be  attached  to  the  man  who,  with 
logically  imperative  reasons  for  discarding  his 
opinion,  refuses  to  do  so  as  to  the  man  who  abandons 
his  convictions  without  any  logical  reasons.  Both 
of  them  are  enemies  of  and  rebels  against  Logos, 
that  "  word- reason,"  which  in  the  profound  phrase 
of  the  fourth  Gospel  was  in  the  very  beginning  of 
being,  and  which  was  first  revealed  in  ancient 
philosophy. 

Pardon  my  insistence  on  this  idea.  But  it  has 
closer  bearings  on  our  subject  now  than  ever.  At  this 
very  moment  Logos  hovers  over  all  of  us,  over  me 


144 


Our  Debt  to  Antiquity 


who  speak  to  you  and  over  you  who  hsten  to  me. 
My  words  are  intended  not  to  move  your  feehngs 
in  this  way  or  that,  but  to  persuade  your  reasoning 
faculties.    That  this  task  would  be  difficult,  that 
my  lectures  would  provoke  much  adverse  criticism 
and  dissatisfaction,  I  knew  myself.     I  told  you  so 
at  the  outset.     It  is  indeed  difficult  to  persuade 
and  induce  people  to  change  their  opinion  in  a 
case  where  you  have  to  contend  with  prejudices 
heaped  up  during  a  whole  succession  of  years, 
transmitted  from  the  society  in  which  those  people 
live,  and,  one  might  almost  add,  bequeathed  to 
them  by  their  ancestors.    Nevertheless,  I  suppose, 
if  it  is  important  for  me  to  communicate  to  you 
the  truth  which  I  possess,  it  is  no  less  important 
for  you  to  receive  it  ...  as  far  as  it  is  true.   And 
to  convince  you  there  is  one  means,  namely  the 
thinker's  code  of  honour,   of  which   I   spoke  a 
moment    ago :     "  You   must    accept    a   position, 
however  unpleasant  for  you,  once  it  is  proved  ; 
you  must  reject  a  conviction,  however  dear  to 
you,    once   it    is   refuted."      But    unfortunately, 
among  the  qualities  which  distinguish  the  modern 
reader  and  listener  from  the  reader  and  listener 
of    Antiquity    must    be    included    the    following 
characteristic  :   when  you  seek  to  prove  anything 
to  him,  he  lets  the  course  of  your  arguments  flow 
past  his  ears  or  eyes  and  concentrates  all  his 
attention  on  the  conclusion.    If  that  please  him — 
well  done  !    he  cries,  though  the  argument  itself 
be  never  so  absurd.    If  it  displease  him,  anathema  ! 
That  is  the  attitude  against  which  I  wish  to  arm 


Our  Debt  to  Antiquity 


145 


you,  while  there  is  still  time,  while  I  am  still  in 
your  company. 

Yes,  I  repeat  once  more,  a  capacity  to  change 
one's  opinion  for  intellectual  reasons,  that  token 
of  mental  freedom  and  mental  progress,  is  the  most 
precious  inheritance  left  to  us  by  ancient  philo- 
sophy as  a  literary  production.  Its  corresponding 
form  is  the  dialogue  ;  and  that  is  the  reason  why 
Plato  wrote  his  works  in  the  form  of  dialogues  in 
which  persuasion  and  change  of  conviction  go  on 
before  our  eyes. 

You  understand,  of  course,  that  I  must  neces- 
sarily omit  many  precious  aspects  of  Antiquity, 
of  ancient  literature,  of  ancient  philosophical 
writing.  I  can  show  you  only  small  specimens,  so 
to  say,  and  in  their  choice  a  certain  subjective 
attitude  is  inevitable.  I  speak  about  what  seems 
to  me  the  most  valuable  part  of  the  lessons  taught 
us  by  Antiquity  :  another  man  would,  perhaps, 
emphasise  other  aspects  more  dear  to  his  heart, 
and  would  be  just  as  much  right.  Now,  before 
parting  with  ancient  literature,  I  should  like  once 
more  to  indicate  its  enormous  effect  on  culture 
throughout  history. 

If  Antiquity  had  merely  created  those  types  of 
literature  which  are  vital  to  our  own  authors,  if 
it  were  merely  the  plane  of  departure  for  the 
evolutions  of  modem  writing,  then  even  so  its 
signification  would  have  been  very  great.  Every 
question  as  to  the  causes  of  phenomena  in  the 
literature  of  all  countries,  in  other  words  every 
conscious  relation  to  it,  must  inevitably  lead  us 


146 


Our  Debt  to  Antiquity 


into  the  sphere  of  Antiquity.  But  as  a  matter  of 
fact  this  does  not  exhaust  its  importance.  An- 
tiquity not  only  gave  the  impulse  to  modem 
literatures,  but  also  accompanied  them  throughout 
the  path  of  their  development  and  exerted  a  more 
or  less  strong  influence  upon  them.  Montesquieu 
said  very  truly  of  his  time  :  "  Modern  works  are 
written  for  the  reader,  ancient  for  the  writer." 
The  classics  have  been  always,  and  especially  in 
the  best  periods  of  literature,  the  principal  source 
of  nourishment  for  poets  and  prose  writers.  To 
understand  modern  Hterature  properly  a  man 
must  have  devoted  very  conscientious  study  to 
that  source.  Former  critics  were  not  so  alive  to 
that  necessity.  While  historians  of  literature 
believed  their  chief  task  to  be  either  the  collection 
of  facts  concerning  the  external  hves  of  literary 
men,  or  moral  and  aesthetic  lucubrations  on  the 
subject  of  their  works,  it  was  possible  to  dispense 
with  a  knowledge  of  ancient  literature.  But  from 
the  time  when  the  history  of  literature  was  founded 
on  a  scientific  basis,  and  we  began  to  claim  from 
its  historian  an  elucidation  of  those  causes  which 
gave  to  a  certain  literary  production  just  a  certain 
character  and  not  some  other,  from  that  time  the 
knowledge  of  ancient  literature  has  become  his 
indispensable  duty.  For  how  could  he  explain 
the  rise  of  some  literary  phenomenon  if  he  were 
ignorant  of  those  forces  which  produced  it  ?  So 
what  I  said  before  is  justified  in  this  connection 
also ;  the  value  of  the  classics  has  become  not  less 
but  greater  than  it  was  before. 


Our  Debt  to  Antiquity 


147 


At  present,  however,  it  is  not  that  point  which 
is  important  for  us,  but  rather  this  next  considera- 
tion. You  will  remember  that  antithesis  in  which 
I  see  the  motto  of  the  thinker  who  insists  on  the 
value  of  Antiquity  for  the  present  age.  "  Not  a 
model,"  I  said,  "  but  a  seed."  There  have  been 
periods  in  the  history  of  literature  when  Antiquity 
was  held  to  be  a  model  for  the  life  of  the  age. 
There  have  been  others  when  it  was — not  perhaps 
held  to  be,  but  actually  was  a  seed.  The  first  we 
term  imitative.  Men  imitated  what  they  under- 
stood, and  they  did  not  understand  very  much, 
much  less,  in  fact,  than  we  do  now.  So  the  result 
was  not  classicism  but  pseudo-classicism.  None 
the  less,  these  periods  were  indispensable.  They 
have  schooled  modern  literature,  they  have  com- 
municated to  its  types  and  mediums  of  production 
that  high  degree  of  technical  excellence  which  it 
needed  to  ensure  its  serving  higher  aims.  It  is 
unfortunate  that  the  shortness  of  time  at  our 
disposal  does  not  permit  of  my  developing  this 
most  interesting  and  important  subject.  But, 
to  pass  over  that  point,  we  count  the  really  creative 
periods  of  literature  those  when  the  classics  were 
not  so  much  a  model  as  a  seed — it  is  no  matter 
whether  they  were  acknowledged  to  be  so  or  not. 
We  are  right  in  placing  Shakespeare  and  Goethe, 
for  whom  the  classics  were  a  seed,  above  Racine, 
not  to  mention  other  more  servile  imitators,  for 
whom  they  were  a  model.  But  you  will  agree  that 
the  process  of  development  of  a  seed  is  more 
intricate  and  more  difficult  to  follow  than  the 


148 


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149 


process  of  reproduction  of  a  model.  It  is  much 
easier  to  show  the  influence  of  the  classics  on 
Racine  than  on  Shakespeare  or  Goethe.  Yes, 
of  course  it  is  ;  but  the  statement  of  a  problem 
does  not  cancel  the  necessity  of  solving  it.  The 
history  of  literature  as  a  science  is  still  only  in 
its  infancy.  The  well-known  writer  Taine  gave  it 
a  great  impetus  forward  when  he  insisted  that 
literature  should  be  considered  a  product  of  the 
society  from  which  and  for  which  it  was  created. 
It  is  not  less  important,  however,  to  insist  that, 
apart  from  these  external  forces,  we  should  track 
out  that  inner  force  also  which  lived  and  lives  in 
it,  namely  classical  literature.  "  Modern  works," 
to  repeat  the  words  of  Montesquieu,  "  were  written 
for  the  reader,  ancient  for  the  writer,"  and  con- 
sequently, let  us  add,  for  those  also  who  study 
and  criticise  these  writers. 

Let  us  now  glance  a  little  back.  In  our  review 
of  the  ancient  world  we  began,  as  was  natural, 
with  religion.  Religion  brought  us  to  mythology, 
mythology  to  literature,  literature  to  philosophy. 
We  have  so  far  considered  philosophy  as  merely  a 
type  of  literature ;  let  us  now  proceed  to  discuss 
its  independent  signification  as  philosophy ,  properly 
so  called.  In  this  subject  more  than  elsewhere  we 
are  struck  forcibly  by  the  degree  to  which  the 
Greek  people  were,  to  repeat  Vladimir  Solovioff's 
expression,  "  many-thoughted."  At  the  present 
day  the  English  and  the  Germans  are  the  most 
creative  peoples  in  the  sphere  of  philosophy.  The 
former  have  been  always  inclined  to  empiricism. 


,/ 


r 


the  latter  to  rationalism.  In  regard  to  the  Greeks, 
however,  it  is  difficult  to  say  which  of  these  two 
directions  of  thought  lay  nearer  to  their  hearts. 
Greece  produced  the  rationalist  Plato,  but  also 
the  empiricist  Democritus.  Both  streams  were 
united  in  Aristotle,  but  then  again  separated  one 
from  the  other.  The  direction  in  which  Plato 
pointed  was  followed  by  the  Stoics,  Democritus* 
path  by  Epicurus.  This  saving  duahty  in  philo- 
sophic thought  Greece  bequeathed  to  the  modern 
world  also.  Henceforward  a  deadening,  one-sided 
philosophy  was  impossible.  By  turns  now  Plato, 
now  Epicurus  enriched  and  revived  modern 
philosophy.  The  rationahsm  of  Plato  blended 
with  religion,  the  empiricism  of  Epicurus  with 
science.  The  first  was  born  an  idealist,  the  second 
a  materialist.  The  first  leads  us  to  the  improve- 
ment of  man  as  such,  the  second  to  man's  power 
over  Nature.  Both  paths  are  necessary  for  us,  but 
the  most  necessary  thing  of  all  is  the  struggle 
between  them,  that  fruitful  rivalry  the  result  of 
which  is  man's  progress  in  culture.  God  forfend 
that  either  of  these  two  roads  be  blocked,  that 
human  reason  wander  either  into  the  barren 
desert  of  speculation  or  into  the  miry  slough  of 
purely  material  interests.  To  preclude  the  chance 
of  such  a  calamity  we  should  never  abandon  ancient 
philosophy  ;  yes,  ancient  philosophy,  I  say,  with 
its  healthy  universalism  which  scans  with  a  clear 
gaze  heaven  and  earth  aUke.  .  .  .  But,  perhaps, 
this  is  too  difficult  a  subject  to  discuss  here.  You 
know   that   we   cannot   exhaust   our   immediate 


f ' 


ISO 


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151 


themes ;  I  can  show  you  only  small  specimen- 
pictures.  Such  a  one  I  shall  now  exhibit  from  the 
world  of  ancient  philosophy.  From  its  many 
aspects  I  shall  choose  one  for  our  consideration, 
namely  moral  philosophy. 

That  is  a  question  which  affects  all  of  us  alike. 
Morality  is  essential  to  every  society.  The  morality 
of  our  day  is  Christian  morality,  which  is  accepted 
even  by  those  who  are  more  or  less  unsympathetic 
towards  the  rehgious  truths  of  Christianity.  It  is 
remarkable,  however,  that  the  first  Christian 
thinkers,  on  becoming  acquainted  with  ancient 
philosophy,  were  struck  by  its  majesty  and  purity. 
In  their  attitude  towards  it  they  showed  the 
religious  spirit  of  Christians  and  the  honourable 
spirit  of  thinkers.  They  devised  the  following 
explanation  of  it  :  "  The  Lord  God,"  they  said, 
**  in  his  care  for  the  human  race  before  the  coming 
of  Christ,  gave  to  the  Hebrews  law  and  to  the 
Greeks  philosophy."  Notice  that  juxtaposition — 
to  the  Hebrews  law,  to  the  Greeks  philosophy. 
Law  says,  "  you  must,"  or  "  you  must  not," 
and  that  is  all.  Philosophy  sets  everywhere  the 
questions  "  why  ?  "  and  "  for  what  purpose  ?  " 
Thus  we  mark  a  difference  in  the  attitude  of  the 
Creator  towards  the  two  chosen  peoples.  The 
Hebrews  he  ordered,  with  the  Greeks  he  reasoned. 
Such,  at  any  rate  to  my  mind,  is  the  natural  logical 
deduction  to  be  drawn  from  the  attitude  taken 
by  the  Holy  Fathers.  I  shall  not  pursue  the  idea, 
however,  lest  I  stumble  into  heresy.  I  shall  confine 
myself  to  the  Greeks. 


-»f  '^ -.-  ■- ' 


Even  with  them  morahty  did  not  bear  a  philo- 
sophical stamp  from  the  very  beginning.  They 
also  had  laws  and  commandments,  the  author  of 
which  was  considered  to  be  Chiron,  the  first 
teacher  of  morality,  the  tutor  of  Achilles  and  other 
heroes.  The  first  commandment  was :  "  Pay 
honour  to  Zeus  and  the  other  gods  "  ;  the  second  : 
"  Honour  your  parents  "  ;  and  the  third  :  "Do 
not  ill-treat  your  guest  and  stranger."  These  were 
the  three  great  commandments  of  Chiron,  Xetpwvos 
vTTodrJKai,  the  breaking  of  which  was  a  deadly  sin 
punished  by  eternal  penalties  in  the  other  world. 
But,  of  course,  this  was  not  all.  There  was  a  whole 
system  of  moral  philosophy  which  sheltered  itself 
with  the  supreme  sanction  of  a  revelation — "  these 
ether-born  laws,"  as  Sophocles  calls  them,  "the 
father  of  which  was  Olympus  alone.  It  was  not 
human  nature  that  produced  them,  and  so  they 
will  not  be  buried  under  the  tomb  of  forget  fulness." 
Pindar,  iEschylus,  Herodotus,  Sophocles— there 
you  have  the  main  sources  of  these  laws,  of  the 
ancient  morality  enjoined  by  laws.  In  what  light 
are  we  to  consider  them  ?  We  are  not  bound  to 
believe  in  Chiron  and  Olympus.  We  may  con- 
tradict the  great  Greek  poet  and  say  that  it  was 
just  human  nature  that  produced  these  com- 
mandments, that  law  of  selection  which  is  as 
strong  in  the  moral  world  as  in  the  physical. 
That  cycle  of  moral  rules  which  guarantee  to 
a  community  the  most  favourable  conditions 
for  its  development  is  created  by  the  law 
of  selection  ;    it  is  a  result   at  which    mankind 


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153 


has  arrived    unconsciously  after   many  ages  of 
experience. 

Of  course,  if  we  consider  the  instinctive  morahty 
of  the  ancient  Greeks  from  this  point  of  view  only, 
it   does   not   stand  higher  than   the  instinctive 
morahty  of  any  other  civilised  or  barbarous  people. 
All  ahke  are  defined  by  one  and  the  same  irresistible 
law  of  selection.     What,  then,  is  the  reason  for 
the  exceptional  importance  of  Greek  morality  ? 
It  is  the  fact  that  Greek  civilisation,  crossing  over 
to  Rome  and  transmitted  by  Rome  to  modem 
nations,  is  the  only  civilisation  in  the  history  of 
mankind  which  has  conquered  and  is  conquering. 
All  the  other  civihsations,  not  excluding  even  those 
most  tenacious  of  hfe,  namely  the  Mahommedan 
and  the  Buddhist,  are  civilisations  that  have  been 
conquered  or  are  in  process  of  being  conquered. 
Here  we  stand  on  quite  firm  biological  ground. 
The  instinctive  morahty  of  the  Greek  people  is 
the  most  healthy  of  all— and  the  most  healthy 
because  it  has  created  the  one  permanent  civiHsa- 
tion  in  the  world.     But  does  that  imply  that  it 
should  be  a  model  for  us  ?    Of  course  not.     We 
have  seen  already  that  models  generally  should 
not  be  sought  for  in  the  ancient  world.    But  if  any 
instinctive  morahty  deserves  the  attention  of  our 
age,  it  is  the  Greek  beyond  all  question  ;  and  that 
attention  has  been,  and  is  being  paid  to  it  in  full 
measure,  ever  since  the  time  when  Fr.  Nietzsche 
rose  up  among  us  as  its  missionary.  .  .  . 

It  was  not  this  instinctive  morahty,  however, 
about  which  I  wished  to  speak  at  this  point,  but 


I 


T 


about  that  conscious  philosophical  morality  which 
rose  up  in  its  stead,  after  one  of  the  greatest 
reforms  through  which  humanity  has  lived  in  the 
sphere  of  morals.  That  reform  is  bound  up  with 
the  name  of  Socrates.  And  the  means  whereby 
Socrates  brought  about  such  a  revolution  in 
Athens  was  nothing  else  than  the  setting  of  the 
question  "  why  ?  "  and  "  for  what  purpose  ?  "  in 
regard  to  every  single  moral  principle  or  law.  In 
this  relation  Socrates  himself,  and  the  moral 
philosophy  that  originated  with  him,  occupy  a 
perfectly  peculiar  position.  The  history  of  man- 
kind does  not  know  another  similar  example.  If 
the  pre-Socratic  instinctive  morality  awakens  our 
interest  as  the  most  precious  of  all  instinctive 
systems  of  morality,  so  the  Socratic  conscious 
system  deserves  our  attention  as  being  unique. 
And  Socrates,  as  you  know,  paid  dearly  for  his 
initiative.  His  contemporaries  were  horrified  at 
these  "  whys  ?  "  and  "  for  what  purposes  ?  "  of  his, 
to  which  they  did  not  know  an  answer,  and  to  which 
he  himself  knew  no  answer.  You  remember  his 
melancholy  words  :  "  They  all  know  nothing,  and 
I,  too,  am  not  wiser  than  they.  I  know  only  that 
I  know  nothing,  whereas  they  do  not  know  even 
this."  Instinctive  morality  had  ceased  to  satisfy 
thinking  minds,  and  the  new  conscious  morality 
was  not  yet  in  existence.  The  Athenian  com- 
munity felt  itself  in  the  position  of  people  who 
have  pushed  off  from  one  bank  and  do  not  see 
the  other.  Socrates  deprived  his  fellow- citizens 
of  that  spiritual  food  which  had  been  hitherto 


\\ 


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155 


their  nourishment.  Let  us  not  err  in  harshness 
while  considering  their  protest  against  him.  On 
the  other  hand,  let  us  not  withhold  our  admiration 
from  that  bold  swimmer  who  has  plunged  off 
resolutely  from  the  shore  in  search  of  a  new  better 
world.  The  questions  set  by  Socrates  were  an- 
swered by  later  thinkers,  especially  the  Stoics. 
The  result  of  their  answers  was  a  moral  philosophy 
from  which  originated  the  only  so-called  autono- 
mous ethical  system  in  the  world,  a  system  which 
deduces  a  man's  moral  duty  from  his  nature, 
once  properly  understood. 

But,  I  may  be  asked,  what  need  have  we  of  that 
ethical  system  when  we  have  the  morality  of 
Christianity  ?  In  the  first  place,  I  have  protested 
once  before  against  this  separation  of  Christianity 
from  the  ancient  world.  There  are  no  reasons  for 
this  distinction  save  the  purely  external  one,  that 
classical  thought  has  always  been  and  is  studied 
in  the  Philosophical  Faculty  and  Christianity  in 
the  Theological  Faculty.  How  is  it  possible  to 
distinguish  from  Antiquity  that  force  for  civilisa- 
tion which  originated  and  developed  within  the 
boundaries  of  the  Roman  empire  in  the  epoch  of 
the  first  Roman  emperors  and  appeared  as  an 
answer  to  the  eternal  questions  of  ancient  thought  ? 
And,  indeed,  every  student  of  the  history  of 
Christianity  and  Christian  ethics  knows  that  the 
last  was  nourished  on  the  sap  of  that  ancient 
philosophy  which,  in  the  words  of  the  Christian 
Fathers  themselves,  was  given  by  God  to  the 
Hellenes  before  the  coming  of  Christ.     But  that 


III 


argument  is  not  the  one  to  which  I  attach  im- 
portance. You  can  overturn  it  by  pointing  to  the 
fact  that  Christian  morality  is,  in  its  principle, 
distinct  from  pre-Socratic  and  from  Socratic 
morality.  There  we  had  instinctive  morality  and 
conscious  morality,  whereas  here  we  have  revealed 
morality.  I  shall  not  dispute  the  point ;  I  would 
only  raise  a  question.  Is  it  desirable  that  the  only 
sanction  of  moral  duty  should  be  a  revelation  ? 
Many,  I  know,  will  be  inclined  to  answer  :  "  Yes.'* 
Again  I  shall  not  argue  the  point  as  to  principle. 
I  shall  join  issue  only  as  to  facts. 

Religious  scepticism  is  a  fact,  and  a  fact,  too,  not 
nearly  so  terrible  as  many  people  represent  it. 
Within  certain  limits  it  may  even  be  regarded  as 
a  biological  phenomenon.  There  is  a  period  in 
a  man's  hfe — and  it  is  just  the  age,  gentlemen,  at 
which  you  now  are — ^when  it  is  as  if  wings  were 
growing  on  his  soul.  That  is  due  partly  to  the 
mighty  inrush  of  hfe  forces  in  a  healthy  organism, 
partly  to  the  fact  that  an  ever  wider  and  wider 
horizon  is  opening  before  the  eyes  of  youth.  The 
young  man  looks  with  a  conqueror's  gaze  at  that 
space  which  has  opened  before  him.  He  feels 
himself  master  of  it,  if  not  at  present,  at  any  rate 
in  the  future.  To  all  reminders  of  a  troublesome 
higher  sanction  he  is  disposed  to  answer  :  "I 
beheve  in  myself  and  in  my  own  strength."  Later 
on,  when  the  spring  floods  subside  into  their  normal 
channels,  he  becomes  sobered,  weighs  his  strength 
with  his  problem,  learns  to  respect  that  sanction 
which  he  formerly  repudiated.    This  change  has 


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nothing  in  common  with  that  metamorphosis 
which  I  indicated  before.  It  is  honourable  and 
disinterested,  and  I  am  actually  sorry  for  the  man 
who  "  in  his  youth  was  not  young."  I  recall 
Petrarch's  words  :  "  The  tree  which  has  not 
bloomed  in  spring  does  not  bear  fruit  in  autumn." 
("  Non  fructificat  autumno  arbor  quae  vere  non 
floruit.")  Sometimes  even  whole  communities  live 
through  such  periods  of  intensified  life  and  daring 
thought.  One  of  the  periods — the  age  of  Locke 
and  Voltaire — discovered  the  meaning  of  the 
autonomous  morality  of  Socrates'  school.  We 
ourselves,  too,  have  seen  the  pre-Socratic  instinc- 
tive morality  communicated  to  the  consciousness 
of  the  modern  world  by  just  such  another  outburst 
of  youthful  enthusiasm.  Its  regenerator  chose  as 
index  and  symbol  the  ancient  god  of  the  spring 
and  returning  vigour,  Dionysus.  Such  phenomena 
are  far  from  having  a  merely  temporary  signifi- 
cance. Of  course,  every  exaggeration  passes. 
The  force  of  Voltaire  has  passed,  that  of  Nietzsche 
will  pass  also.  Only  the  struggle  will  not  pass, 
that  unique  and  indispensable  means  of  effecting 
improvement. 

Such  a  struggle  lies  before  us  also,  perhaps 
the  most  serious  of  all  that  have  ever  agitated 
humanity.  And  in  these  periods,  when  the  violence 
of  the  contest  is  enhanced,  we  should  not  confine 
ourselves  within  the  limits  of  any  one  moral  code, 
even  though  it  be  Christian.  New  social  combina- 
tions are  maturing,  and  with  them  also  new 
problems  of  individual  and  pubUc  ethics.     For 


Our  Debt  to  Antiquity 


157 


their  solution  we  cannot  be  satisfied  with  those 
rules  which  we  have  received  handed  down  from 
our  fathers  and  forefathers.  We  must  verify  their 
right  to  existence,  we  must  penetrate  through  that 
alluvial  stratum  of  current  morality  to  the  real 
morality  which  is  supported  on  the  firm  foundation 
of  human  nature,  and  not  merely  human  nature — 
that  was  the  mistake  of  the  enlightened  period — 
but  our  European  nature,  the  roots  of  which  are 
fixed  in  our  spiritual  mother  country — namely 
Antiquity.  And  that  is  why  we  must  turn  from 
our  morals  both  to  the  pre-Christian,  the  Socratic, 
and  to  the  pre-Socratic,  the  instinctive,  not  to  re- 
establish them,  God  forfend,  but  that  the  new 
system  of  which  we  stand  in  need  may  be  pro- 
duced from  their  struggle  with  current  morality. 

Such  is  the  need  of  the  time.  Many  signs  make 
it  clear  that  we  are  going  to  see  a  revival  of  interest 
in  the  classical  world  which  will  not  only  be  better 
understood,  but  also  exercise  a  profounder  in- 
fluence on  society.  Friedrich  Nietzsche  is  only 
one  example,  one  symptom.  The  extraordinary, 
though  indeed  deferred  success  of  that  prophet  of 
Antiquity — and  that,  too,  the  most  ancient  pre- 
Socratic  Antiquity — clearly  shows  us  in  what 
direction  contemporary  problems  point  and  where 
the  means  of  solving  them  is  to  be  found.  With  us 
in  Russia  people  have  always  been  especially 
sensitive  to  moral  questions  and  problems.  In 
Russia  the  public  consciousness  has  been  less 
hampered  by  traditional  frames  than  in  other 
countries,  and  strains  more  boldly  out  towards 


158 


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Our  Debt  to  Antiquity 


159 


space,  from  the  conditional  and  transitory  to  the 
real,  the  natural,  the  eternal.  Consequently 
interest  in  the  classical  peoples  should  be  stronger 
in  Russia  than  anywhere.  And  when  I  hear  in  our 
midst  that  crusade  of  hate  and  contempt  toward 
Antiquity,  I  fancy  that  I  am  in  presence  of  some 
colossal  and  shameful  misunderstanding.  I  would 
like  to  cry  out  to  society  :  "  Why  !  what  are  you 
doing  ?  You've  got  before  you  a  bowl  of  the  most 
sparkling,  the  most  tasty,  the  most  nourishing 
beverage,  but  because  its  edge  is  smeared  with 
wormwood,  you  turn  peevishly  away  like  a  child  !  " 

Enough,  however,  as  to  ancient  philosophy.  Its 
characteristics  have  by  themselves  led  us  to  the 
social  and  political  formations  of  the  ancient  world, 
to  the  practice  and  the  theory  of  ancient  polity. 
Yes,  the  practice  and  the  theory  ;  by  placing  these 
two  terms  in  juxtaposition  we  mark  clearly  the 
distinguishing  feature  of  ancient  politics.  One 
form  or  another  of  social  and  political  life  has 
been  essential  to  all  the  peoples  of  the  ancient  and 
modem  worlds,  but  only  the  classical  nations  have 
thought,  judged,  and  written  about  it,  and  those 
moderns  who  learnt  from  Antiquity  to  do  so. 

One  sphere,  indeed,  of  that  life  among  all 
civilised  peoples  has  called  for  a  conscious  attitude 
towards  it — namely  the  sphere  of  justice.  To 
regulate  the  relations  between  citizens  and  also 
between  half-citizens,  and  to  check  to  some  degree 
at  least  the  arbitrary  license  of  brute  force,  a 
definite  legislation  was  needed,  made  up  of  a 
series  of  definite  prescriptions  :    "If  any  one  does 


t 


so  and  so,  he  is  subjected  to  so  and  so."  The  most 
ancient  of  these  codes,  that  of  Hammurabi  of 
Babylon,  which  relates  to  a  period  three  thousand 
years  before  Christ,  was  found  not  so  long  ago, 
and  the  discovery  aroused  universal  interest  among 
civilised  nations.  That  code  is,  indeed,  extremely 
interesting,  among  other  reasons  because  we  learn 
from  it  how  long  humanity  lived  on  what  may  be 
called  mere  trade  prescriptions  of  the  pattern  : 
"If  any  one  does  so  and  so,  he  is  subjected  to  so 
and  so,"  and  how  great  must  have  been  the  ex- 
ploit of  that  people  which  alone  could  rise  above 
these  prescriptions  to  a  scientific  jurisprudence, 
that  had  as  its  basis  precise  and  definite  legal 
terms,  and  in  its  code  an  illustration  of  how  to 
work  with  them.  That  achievement  is  as  great 
an  exploit  of  thought  as  progress  from  wise 
women's  practices  to  scientific  medicine,  which 
has  as  its  basis  a  knowledge  of  the  qualities  of 
organisms  and  substances.  That  change  in  the 
world  of  justice  was  realised  partly  by  the  Greeks 
but  especially  by  the  Romans,  and  that  fact  is 
the  reason  why  Roman  law  has  been,  is,  and  will 
be  the  source  of  nourishment  for  modern  juris- 
prudence. 

I  know  that  this  position  is  frequently  com- 
bated, not  so  much,  however,  by  jurists  qua 
jurists  —  I  make  this  juridical  reservation  inas- 
much as  jurists  themselves  are  often  members  of 
a  party,  and  as  members  of  a  party  say,  of  course, 
what  their  party  bids  them — as  by  non- jurists 
and  quasi- jurists.    "  Why  should  we  learn  Roman 


i6o 


Our  Debt  to  Antiquity 


Our  Debt  to  Antiquity 


i6i 


law  ?  "  they  ask.  "  Our  conceptions  of  marriage, 
of  the  family,  and  so  on — how  are  they  Roman  ? 
How  can  the  model  of  Roman  law  help  us  ?  " 
Notice — the  model.  Everywhere  one  and  the 
same  delusion.  The  model  is  inapplicable,  so, 
forsooth,  there  is  nothing  to  learn.  We  ridicule 
the  soldier  in  the  well  -  known  story  who  refused 
to  solve  the  arithmetical  problem  :  "  If  I  gave  you 
five  roubles  and  you  sent  three  to  your  wife,  how 
many  would  be  left  ?  "  on  the  ground  that  no- 
body had  given  him  five  roubles,  and  that  he  was 
a  bachelor.  As  a  matter  of  fact,  however,  these 
quasi- jurists,  whose  opinions  I  have  just  quoted, 
are  not  a  whit  wiser  than  the  soldier.  It  is  not 
the  model  of  Roman  law  that  we  need.  We  need 
the  legal  conceptions  which  that  chosen  people  of 
Themis  created  of  such  astonishingly  precise  and 
serviceable  character — all  those  justum  and  aequum, 
dolus  and  culpa,  possessio  and  dominium,  hereditas 
and  legatum,  fideicommissum,  usufructus,  servitus 
ohligatio,  and  countless  others.  We  need  the  ability 
to  use  these  terms,  recognise  their  application  in 
given  legal  relations,  and  therewith  lead  the  com- 
plicated individual  cases  of  actual  life  to  com- 
paratively simple  formulae.  We  need  all  that 
fine  and  acute  juridical  analysis  of  which  the 
Roman  lawyers  were  masters.  "  But  why  ?  "  the 
quasi- jurists  ask  ;  "  these  terms  and  their  usage, 
as  far  as  they  are  necessary,  have  been  taken  over 
into  modern  law."  And  in  modern  law,  I  ask,  have 
they  ceased  to  be  Roman  ?  You  have  replaced 
the  word  usufructus  by  the  corresponding  term  in 


\ 


Russian — do  you  imagine  that,  thanks  to  that 
simple  manipulation,  you  have  obtained  a  Russian 
code  instead  of  the  Roman  ?  You  have  torn  off 
the  label  from  an  amphora  of  choice  Falernian 
wine  and  glued  on  a  Russian  ticket — do  you  console 
yourself  with  the  thought  that  you  are  drinking  a 
home-produced  vintage  ?  That  short-sighted  parti- 
sanship of  modern  times  is  pernicious  for  but  this 
reason,  that  it  leads  to  such  shameless  falsifica- 
tions and  plagiarisms. 

But  that  is  only  one  aspect  of  the  subject.     I 
put  aside  k  priori  the  "  model "  character  forced 
upon  Antiquity,  and  disregarded  the  correspond- 
ing principle  in  my  appraisement.    None  the  less, 
here  and  there  we  might  find  some  instruction  in 
this  relation  also,  and  in  the  field  of  Roman  law 
far  more  than  elsewhere.    Even  that,  however,  is 
not  all.    Whatever  attitude  one  adopts  toward  the 
immediate  actual  significance  of  Roman  law,  the 
value  which  it  had  for  us  as  the  origin  of  our  law 
and  the  source  of  nourishment  for  our  jurisdiction 
cannot  be  taken  from  it ;    "  habere  eripi  potest, 
habuisse  non  potest,"  in  Seneca's  admirable  phrase. 
We  cannot  learn  the  history  of  our  law  without 
learning  Roman  law,  and  we  cannot  avoid  learning 
that  history  if  we  would  stand  in  at  all  conscious 
relations  to  that  which  is  a  vital  and  essential 
part  of  our  world.    The  answer  to  a  question  about 
the  sense  of  legal  institutions  brings  us  to  their 
origin  :    the  answer  to  a  question  about  their 
origin  leads  to  their  history,  that  is,  as  I  have  said, 
to  Roman  law.     Whoever  is  ignorant  of  it  will 


1 62 


Our  Debt  to  Antiquity 


never  be  a  jurist- thinker ;  and  such  men  were 
never  so  urgently  needed  as  to-day,  when  there  is 
going  on  a  decomposition,  so  to  say,  of  the  capital 
code  and  process,  and  when  the  brooding  conscience 
of  humanity,  in  the  persons  of  Tolstoy,  Nietzsche, 
and  Haeckel,  is  raising  ever  fresh  questions  for 
jurisprudence  to  solve  and  waiting  with  intense 
anxiety  for  the  answers. 

But  law  and  jurisprudence  form  only  one  aspect 
of  what  may  be  termed  ancient  ''  politics  "  in 
the  classical  sense  of  that  word.  There  are  many 
other  aspects,  so  many  that  we  cannot  think  of 
even  a  roughly  filled  in  sketch.  In  the  foundation 
of  all  the  other  states  of  Antiquity  lies  either  a 
military  or  a  financial  idea.  Greece  alone  revealed 
the  thought  that  a  state  forms  a  means  toward 
moral  education  and  progress.  This  idea  is  not 
met  with  so  early  as  in  Homer.  The  Homeric  com- 
munity, in  spite  of  many  attractive  features,  acts 
on  us  like  Nature  itself  with  its  rough  material 
simplicity.  But  then  Delphi,  the  greatest,  wisest, 
and  most  moral  force  in  Greece  right  down  to  the 
fifth  century,  takes  on  itself  the  stupendous 
problem  of  giving  Greece  a  political  education  in 
the  spirit  of  the  ApoUonic  religion  and  morality. 
The  Greek  people  had  ere  now  divided  into  small 
independent  communities,  each  with  a  population 
of  some  thousands.  These  ttoXcis  were  material 
suitable  in  the  highest  degree  for  the  important 
and  instructive  experiments  about  to  be  performed 
on  them.  One  must  search  far  and  wide  in^odern 
history  to  find  anything  parallel.    As  an  example, 


Our  Debt  to  Antiquity 


163 


one  might  cite  Geneva  in  the  time  of  Calvin. 
The  experiments  were  carried  out  with  various 
means  and  various  degrees  of  success.  In  some 
communities,  Sparta,  for  example,  Delphi  suc- 
ceeded in  taking  the  government  into  its  own 
hands.  In  others,  as  in  Athens,  it  met  with  co- 
operation from  strong  parties  in  the  state.  In 
others,  again,  as  in  the  south  Itahan  colonies,  the 
instrument  it  used  was  the  powerful  Orphic  order. 
Here  Delphi  conquered,  there  its  efforts  were  idle. 
All  these  spectacles  are  equally  interesting  to  us. 
An  experiment  of  a  different  nature  and  in  opposi- 
tion to  Delphi  was  tried  by  the  Athenian  politicians 
of  the  fifth  century.  But  the  landless  community 
of  warriors  and  officials  which  it  created  was  over- 
turned in  the  Peloponnesian  war.  The  theory  of 
the  fourth  century — the  ideas  of  Plato  in  his 
"  Republic  "  —  benefited  by  the  practical  experi- 
ments, but  again  only  to  pass  the  sooner  into 
practice. 

So  Greece  bequeathed  to  us,  both  in  theoretical 
exposition  and  in  practical  application,  principles 
of  politics  in  the  broadest  sense  of  the  word. 
The  question  which  it  set  itself,  namely,  what  is  the 
way  to  build  a  state  so  as  to  secure  for  individuals 
the  possibility  of  the  greatest  moral  progress  ? 
runs  like  a  red  thread  through  all  these  experi- 
ments and  constructions.  It  is  a  question  of  the 
most  absorbing  interest.  The  very  fact  that  the 
Greeks  put  it  in  this  form  showed  an  immense 
step  forward.  "  What  is  the  way  to  build  a  state 
so  that  ..."  that  is  to  say,  a  state  is  not  some- 


164 


Our  Debt  to  Antiquity 


thing  elemental.  It  depends  on  ourselves  to  build 
and  rebuild  it  according  to  the  aim  which  we  con- 
sider best.  So  the  ancients  believed,  so  they  have 
taught  us  to  believe.  This  idea  was  at  one  time 
the  source  of  extravagant  exaggerations  and 
delusions.  In  the  age  of  enlightenment  thinkers 
exaggerated  the  power  of  reason  to  govern  the 
will,  and  imagined  that  they  needed  only  well- 
conceived  constitutions  to  educate  the  masses 
from  their  darkness  and  create  a  new  race  of  people. 
The  bloody  history  of  the  French  Revolution,  with 
its  still-born  constitution  and  savage  outbursts  of 
fury,  has  taught  us  to  look  more  soberly  at  the 
facts  and  not  despise  that  blind  elemental  factor 
which  is  inherent  in  the  character  of  any  given 
community.  But  the  essence  of  the  idea  of  political 
progress  which  Antiquity  has  bequeathed  to  us 
was  not  itself  touched  thereby.  That  was  one  step 
in  advance.  The  second  was  the  conception  of  the 
moral  signification  of  a  state  in  its  relation  to- 
ward individuals.  This  conception  contained 
the  roots  of  the  struggle  between  ideas  equally 
precious  and  equally  important  for  the  progress 
of  civilisation,  the  idea  of  citizenship  and  the 
idea  of  individual  freedom.  Delphi  insisted 
on  the  first  and  subordinated  individuality  to 
the  state.  Athens  tried  to  emancipate  in- 
dividuality, as  far  as  that  was  possible  with- 
out detriment  to  the  power  of  the  state.  This 
tendency  of  the  Athenian  empire  is  clearly  em- 
phasised by  Pericles  in  his  funeral  speech  in 
Thucydides'    history.     So   Antiquity   introduced 


Our  Debt  to  Antiquity 


i6s 


into  the  world  that  fruitful  political  antithesis,  the 
antagonism  between  socialistic  and  individualistic 
principles,  and  the  more  conscious  champions  in 
modern  history  of  the  one  or  the  other  cause  have 
always  acknowledged  themselves  to  be  the  pupils 
of  Antiquity  and  have  highly  prized  its  significa- 
tion. The  father  of  contemporary  socialism, 
Ferdinand  Lassalle,  saw  in  classical  education  a 
happy  counterpoise  to  the  bourgeois  philosophy 
of  the  Germany  of  his  time.  He  counted  it  "  the 
firm  bedrock  of  the  German  spirit."  It  was  from 
Antiquity  that  his  antipodes,  Nietzsche,  the 
prophet  of  extreme  individualism,  borrowed  those 
principles  on  which  he  insisted  in  his  preaching 
with  such  eloquence  and  success.  Both  were  right, 
inasmuch  as  both  were  so  far  educated  that  they 
counted  Antiquity  not  a  model  for,  but  a  seed 
of  modern  civilisation. 

But  in  this  matter  also  w^e  must  admit  not  only 
the  vast  theoretical  significance  of  ancient  polity 
but  its  great  historical  importance  as  well.  The 
term  "  historical  "  I  ask  you  to  understand  not 
in  the  sense  of  its  being  foreign  to  the  modern 
world  but  in  the  sense  of  its  being  exceedingly 
near  to  it.  I  said  once  before  that  our  past  is  not 
a  past  in  the  proper  meaning  of  the  word.  It  lives 
in  us  and  we  live  by  it.  In  studying  the  past  we 
study  our  present  conditions  in  all  their  most 
stable  and  lasting  features.  Try  to  look  at  the 
present  as  if  you  had  been  born  to-day,  as  if  you 
knew  nothing  even  about  yesterday.  Everything 
you  see  appears  equally  valuable,  indispensable. 


i66 


Our  Debt  to  Antiquity 


Our  Debt  to  Antiquity 


167 


and  eternal.  The  institution  of  high  neck-ties  or 
ladies'  flat-shaped  hats  seems  on  a  hne  with  the 
institution  of  the  hard  or  soft  final  sign  or  the 
letter  "  yaht,"  with  the  institution  of  military 
conscription  or  jurymen's  courts,  with  the  institu- 
tion of  marriage  and  friendship.  What  will  help 
you  to  distinguish  the  temporary  from  the  eternal, 
mere  caprice  from  necessity,  the  essential  from 
the  unessential  ?  An  accurate  knowledge  of  man- 
kind ?  But  that  is  a  science  of  the  future,  indeed 
of  the  distant  future.  For  the  time  being  our  only 
guide  is  the  past.  And  if  we  classical  students  are 
transported  by  our  thoughts  into  the  distant  past 
of  our  civilisation,  it  is  not  with  the  object  of 
flying  away  from  our  age  but  of  understanding  it 
more  easily  and  thoroughly,  of  passing  from  the 
conditional  and  transitional  to  the  unconditional 
and  eternal,  or  at  any  rate  the  lasting,  of  being 
able  to  appreciate  correctly  the  phenomena  all 
round  us  and  distinguish  the  alluvial  layer  which 
to-morrow's  wave  will  wash  away  from  the  granite 
bedrock  on  which  our  civihsation  rests.  Its 
history  begins  for  us  where  the  history  of  Greece 
begins.  I  need  not  speak  of  the  history  of  the 
East.  It  is  unknown  how  far  the  history  of  Greece 
may  be  considered  its  continuation.  When  we 
study  that  beginning  and  compare  it  with  modern 
life,  we  learn  to  recognise  the  path  on  which  hu- 
manity strides  forward,  led  by  its  stern  educator, 
the  law  of  sociological  selection. 

And,  as  I  observed  before,  a  study  of  that  path 
gives  us  not  only  mental  knowledge  but  spiritual 


boldness  and  courage  as  well,  inspired  by  the  com- 
forting agreement  of  biological  and  moral  values. 
Only  at  this  point,  indeed,  throughout  the  long 
path  of  the  hfe  of  society  do  these  two  values 
coincide— for  the  short  space  of  individual  life 
they  now  approach  and  now  depart  from  each 
other,  baffling  us  with  their  combinations.  I  recall 
the  half-jesting,  half-serious  lines  of  a  Russian 
epigrammatist  : 

Whoe'er  at  forty  is  no  pessimist, 
Or  at  fifty  no  misanthropist, 
Perhaps  is  pure  in  heart, 
But  he'll  fill  an  idiot's  grave. 

Yes,  an  idiot  like  Karatayeff,   Akim,   or  the 
character  that  Dostoyevski  has  described.  ...    It 
is  indeed  true  that  throughout  the  life  of  one 
generation  might  triumphs  over  right  at  every 
step,  and  httleness  over  both  ;  and  even  that  is  not 
the  worst.     Of  course,  it  is  sad  to  see  so  many 
fair  lives  spoiled  in  the  triumph  of  self-satisfied 
worthlessness  and  baseness.     It  is  still  sadder, 
however,  to  see  the  wreck  of  noble  ideas,  to  see  the 
corpses  of  butchered  truth  in  newspaper  columns 
and  other  organs  of  public  opinion.    What  can  we 
do^     Throughout   mere   human   life   you   grow 
acquainted  only  with  the  small  "  I  "  of  the  society 
in  which  you  live— and  it  is  not  very  comforting. 
If  you  wish  to  know  its  great  "  I  "—that  force 
which  directs  the  law  of  sociological  selection— 
you  must  go  back  to  the  past  and  study  the  path 
of  human  civilisation  from  the  earliest  beginnings. 
And  here  you  will  notice  what  I  referred  to  just 


1 68 


Our  Debt  to  Antiquity 


now — the  coincidence  of  biological  and  moral 
values.  Its  essence  may  be  expressed  as  follows  : 
"Bad  proves  unsuited  for  life  and  becomes  ex- 
tinct, good  suited  for  life  and  survives  or  is  re- 
vived." You  are  filled  with  a  bright  hope  of  that 
mysterious  future  whither  the  inscrutable  Will  is 
carrying  us ;  you  approve  of  Nicolas  Lenau's  * 
fine  words  in  their  apphcation  to  human  nature  : 

Love  nature ;  she  is  just  and  true, 

She  strives  for  freedom  and  for  happiness. 


*  The  real  name  of  this  Austrian  poet  (1802-50)  was 
Niembsch.  He  borrowed  the  name  Lenau  from  his  estate 
Strehlenau.  His  principal  works  are  a  Faust.  Savonarola, 
Albigeois,  and  one  or  two  volumes  of  shorter  poems. 

For  the  characters  alluded  to  on  p.  167  and  Count 
Aleksai  Tolstoy,  the  epigrammatist,  see  Appendix. 


LECTURE    VII 


BOTH  my  preceding  lectures  were  devoted  to 
the  signification  of  classical  study  as  a  force 
for  culture.  I  dealt  with  a  fairly  wide  diversity  of 
subjects — religion,  mythology,  literature,  phil- 
osophy, law,  politics.  These  subjects,  however, 
were  connected  by  common  attachment  to  the 
sphere  of  Antiquity,  and  also  by  being  looked  at 
from  a  common  standpoint.  I  tried  throughout 
to  prove  to  you  that  Antiquity  ought  to  be  for 
us  not  a  model,  but  a  seed.  This  reservation  is  of 
the  highest  importance.  It  lifts  us  at  once  above 
all  parties,  not  merely  political,  but  of  any  nature 
whatever.  I  will  illustrate  by  an  example  what 
that  means.  You  may  have  noticed  that  I  have 
carefully  avoided  in  my  lectures  the  word  "  classi- 
cism." I  did  so  not  because  that  word  grates  on 
the  ears  of  many  members  of  our  society — in  that 
connection,  I  hope,  no  one  will  reproach  me  with 
cowardice — but  because  the  very  idea  which  it 
denotes  does  not  correspond  with  what  I  consider 
useful  and  profitable  for  our  present  purpose. 
By  classicism  we  mean  an  attitude  towards  litera- 
ture and  art  which  sees  in  the  literature  and  art 
of  Antiquity  —  and    not    of    all  Antiquity,   but 

169 


170 


Our  Debt  to  Antiquity 


only  of  a  conspicuous  part  of  it — precisely  a  model 
for  imitation.  In  that  sense  classicism  is  opposed 
on  the  one  hand  to  romanticism,  on  the  other  to 
naturalism.  The  attitude  is  one  which  has  equal 
rights  with  both  of  those  just  cited,  but  only  equal 
rights — nothing  more.  In  Antiquity,  however,  we 
seek  what  may  suit  alike  classicists,  romanticists, 
and  followers  of  the  "  natural  "  school.  We  seek,  as 
I  have  said  many  times  before,  not  models,  but 
seeds. 

This  consideration  should  be  borne  in  view  in 
the  next  aspect  of  Antiquity  to  which  we  are  now 
turning,  to  finish  with  it  our  survey  of  the  whole 
field.  This  is  the  sphere  of  art.  Art  in  our  case 
means  especially  architecture,  sculpture,  and 
painting,  but  the  term  extends  also  to  domestic 
and  other  furniture,  as  far  as  such  objects  bear 
an  artistic  character. 

Let  us  begin  with  architecture. 

Its  fundamental  characteristics  in  Antiquity  are 
very  simple — the  Greek  column  with  the  straight 
entablature,  and  the  arch  which  may  be  con- 
sidered pre-eminently  Roman.  It  is  worth  our 
while,  however,  to  reflect  on  the  structural  idea 
which  is  embodied  in  these  principles.  Two  pillars 
and  a  cross-beam — such  is  the  original  scheme  of 
Greek  architecture.  Gravity  presses  entirely  from 
above  downwards ;  it  is  resisted  by  the  column, 
the  forces  of  which  are  directed  accordingly  entirely 
from  below  upwards.  It  is  interesting  to  see  how 
the  whole  column  is  a  kind  of  animated  representa- 
tion of  that  force  which  acts  from  below  upwards. 


Our  Debt  to  Antiquity 


171 


n 


But  at  present  we  are  interested  by  one  considera- 
tion only,  namely  the  profound  honesty,  if  I  may 
use  the  word,  of  Greek  architecture.  The  outer 
appearance  of  a  building  fully  expresses  its 
structural  idea.  You  can  build  a  Greek  temple 
without  any  artificial  means  for  lending  strength, 
without  cement  or  iron  supports,  and  it  will  hold 
firm.  There  was  only  one  difficulty  to  face.  With 
an  interval  at  all  considerable  between  the  columns 
it  was  difficult  to  find  stone  cross-beams  of  sufficient 
length.  The  arch  was  invented  to  overcome  that 
obstacle,  its  principle  being  a  cuneiform  section 
of  stones.  In  this  way  the  ancients  became  able 
to  surmount  the  difficulty  of  quite  considerable 
intervals  between  columns  by  stones  or  bricks  of 
inconsiderable  size.  This  second  feature  of  ancient 
architecture  was  also  honest,  and  consequently 
the  vault  also  along  with  the  dome.  You  can  build 
an  arch  of  wedge-shaped  bricks  without  cement  or 
artificial  claspings,  and  the  arch  will  not  only 
keep  firm  itself,  but  support  the  upper  part  of  the 
edifice.  The  more  the  weight  presses  upon  it,  the 
more  compact  and  firm  the  arch  itself  will  be. 

But  if  it  removed  one  difficulty,  the  arch 
introduced  another,  for  which  Roman  archi- 
tecture did  not  find  a  fully  satisfactory  solu- 
tion. With  the  system  of  the  straight  entablature 
the  weight  pressed,  as  we  have  seen,  only 
from  above  downwards  in  a  vertical  direction. 
With  the  system  of  the  arch  it  pressed  also 
from  the  centre  toward  both  sides  in  a  hori- 
zontal direction.    Try  to  build  an  arch  of  wedge- 


172 


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Our  Debt  to  Antiquity 


^71 


shaped  bricks  over  two  columns  ;  it  will  begin 
to  thrust  the  columns  outwards  till  they  topple 
over.  So  a  new  architectural  element  was  wanted 
to  resist  this  horizontal  pressure  also.  Roman 
architecture  did  not  find  it  and  circumvented 
rather  than  solved  the  difficulty.  But  the  direct 
continuation  of  Roman  architecture  was  the 
Romanesque  architecture  of  the  early  Middle  Ages, 
and  its  direct  continuation  again  was  the  Gothic 
style  of  the  late  Middle  Ages.  This  last  succeeded 
in  finding  a  fully  satisfactory  architectural  answer 
to  the  question  raised  by  the  Roman  arch.  Since 
the  weight  pressed  in  two  directions,  vertically  and 
horizontally,  but  especially  in  the  first,  its  pic- 
torial representation  was  an  oblique  line,  the 
diagonal  of  the  parallelogram  of  these  forces.  To 
overcome  it,  therefore,  one  required  an  element  to 
meet  it  in  a  like  fashion,  that  is  to  say,  not  directly 
from  below  upwards,  but  in  a  slanting  direction — 
in  other  words,  a  counterpoise.  This  principle, 
after  some  incomplete  efforts  of  Romanesque 
architecture  in  the  same  direction,  was  adopted 
into  the  system  of  Gothic  architecture  as  an  in- 
tegral and  indispensable  part.  Gothic  architecture 
developed  and  embellished  it,  creating  both  the 
counter-pillar  and  the  counter- arch.  This  dis- 
covery restored  that  architectural  honesty  which 
had  been  slightly  violated  by  the  introduction  of 
the  Roman  arch,  that  architectural  honesty  which 
demands  that  the  outer  appearance  of  a  building 
should  be  the  exact  expression  of  the  structural 
idea  that  informs  it. 


f 


The  history  of  architecture  knows  only  two 
examples  of  that  absolute  honesty,  the  Greek 
style  and  the  Gothic  style.  We  may  be  told  that 
these  two  styles  are  in  direct  opposition  to  each 
other.  Yes,  of  course  they  are.  Their  mutual 
relations  are  those  of  vertical  to  horizontal.  As 
a  model  Greek  style  was  certainly  not  used  by 
Gothic  style,  but  no  less  certainly  the  latter  was 
only  a  flower  from  the  seed  of  Antiquity.  That 
seed  was  architectural  honesty.  What  that  implies 
we  shall  see  immediately. 

The  structural  principle  alone  does  not  make  up 
an  architectural  style.  The  decorative  principle 
always  shares  in  it  to  a  greater  or  less  degree. 
You  see  this  last  in  the  Greek  style  also.  If  you 
ask  yourselves  what  is  its  relation  in  Greek  archi- 
tecture to  the  structural  principle,  you  will  see 
that  it  was  an  illustration  of  the  proverb  :  "To 
work  time,  to  amusement  an  hour."  Work  is  here 
the  support  of  the  weight,  and  the  column  especially 
is  concerned  with  that  work  which  is  its  entire 
care.  The  whole  appearance  of  its  severely 
harmonious  stem  expresses  that  idea  ;  for  amuse- 
ment, that  is  to  say  for  ornament,  it  has  no  time. 
Then  we  come  to  the  architrave.  Here  the  weight 
and  the  support,  the  force  that  presses  from 
above,  and  the  force  that  resists  the  pressure, 
are,  as  it  were,  neutralised.  The  architrave  affords, 
so  to  say,  a  moment  of  rest.  You  will  notice  that 
here  the  amusement,  that  is  to  say  the  ornamenta- 
tion, enters  upon  its  rights  ;  the  Ionic  scrolls 
and  the  Corinthian  leaves  wind  round  the  capital 


174 


Our  Debt  to  Antiquity 


of  the  column.  But  the  architrave  also  has  work 
of  its  own.  It  has  to  support  the  weight  of  all 
the  upper  part  of  the  entablature  which  presses 
on  it — in  the  Doric  style — with  its  triglyphs. 
On  the  other  hand,  the  rectangular  intervals 
between  the  triglyphs  are  free  from  work,  and 
note  how  here  again  in  the  so-called  metopes  the 
artist's  fancy  receives  full  play  and  the  metopes 
are  adorned  with  sculptural  representations.  The 
entablature  supports  the  roof,  which  in  front 
appears  a  plane  isosceles  triangle,  the  so-called 
pediment.  The  space  within  this  triangle  again 
represents  a  neutral  field  of  repose,  and  here  again, 
accordingly,  you  meet  sculptural  decorations.  In 
this  way  the  same  architectural  honesty  which 
characterises  the  structural  side  of  the  Greek  style 
is  repeated  also  in  its  ornamental  aspect.  The 
role  of  the  second  is  purely  secondary,  it  never 
overshadows  the  structural  idea. 

The  strongest  negation,  on  the  other  hand,  of 
this  principle  of  architectural  honesty  is  seen  first 
of  all  in  the  Eastern  styles,  and  also  in  the  degener- 
ate classical  style,  influenced  partly  by  Oriental 
methods.  These  styles  have  all  one  element  in 
common,  a  fantastic  element.  What  is  their 
speciality  ?  The  subordination  of  the  structural 
principle  to  the  decorative,  the  perversion  of  the 
structural  elements  to  mere  ornamental  patterns, 
the  concealment  of  the  structural  idea  behind 
architectural  forms  which  are  themselves  im- 
possible ?  Take  the  Byzantine  style,  which  is  of 
special  importance  for  Russians.     In  Stjigovski's 


Our  Debt  to  Antiquity 


17S 


*: 


happy  expression,  it  represents  "  Greece  in  the 
arms  of  the  East."  Notice  its  bent,  pointed  arch. 
Built  of  wedge-shaped  bricks,  such  an  arch  would 
be  unable  not  only  to  support  anything,  but  even 
remain  firm  itself.  Its  outer  appearance  does  not 
correspond  with  a  structural  idea.  It  is  possible 
only  thanks  to  plaster  cement  and  artificial  sup- 
ports. Consider  the  Byzantine  column.  That  main 
feature  of  Greek  architecture  is  in  this  stage 
given  up  to  utter  uselessness.  It  appears  some- 
where from  some  angle  and  disappears  into  another 
without  supporting  anything,  which,  however,  it 
could  not  have  supported  in  any  case.  In  other 
words,  it  has  been  perverted  into  mere  ornamenta- 
tion. Take  Arabian  architecture,  the  Alhambra 
with  its  stalactite  vaults,  which  are  as  impossible 
structurally  as  the  Byzantine  arch.  Once  again 
the  ornamentor's  fancy,  with  the  help  of  plaster 
and  such  things,  has  concealed  the  structural 
element  that  lies  at  the  bottom  of  its  creation, 
namely  the  Roman  arch.  Take  the  Russian  style 
and  its  characteristic  peculiarity,  the  bulbous 
dome.  It  is  a  structural  absurdity,  possible  only 
owing  to  the  artificial  supports  hidden  within  the 
dome.  The  effect  is  that,  whereas  the  props  which 
support  it  are  hidden  carefully  from  us,  we  are 
shown  that  it  cannot  be  supported  by  itself  only. 
You  will  agree  that  this  principle  is  in  direct 
opposition  to  the  principle  of  architectural  honesty 
of  which  I  have  been  speaking,  and  which  requires 
that  the  outer  appearance  of  a  building  should 
correspond  with  its  structural  idea.    The  Russian 


176 


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Our  Debt  to  Antiquity 


177 


style  is  in  fashion  with  us  at  the  present  moment, 
but  only  because  it  is  Russian.  I  cannot  believe 
that  its  success  is  to  be  lasting.  Such  enthusiasm 
for  ant i- structural  forms  has  usually  been  followed 
in  the  history  of  architecture  by  the  revival  of 
classical  influence  with  its  sobriety  and  honesty.  I 
believe  that  the  same  thing  will  happen  with  us 
also,  but  not,  of  course,  with  the  result  of  reviving 
among  us  the  models  of  Greek  or  Roman  architec- 
ture in  place  of  our  present  ones.  No  ;  if  the 
artist-architects  of  coming  generations  borrow 
from  ancient  architecture  its  seed,  namely  archi- 
tectural honesty,  and  combine  it  with  the  forms  of 
Russian  ornamentation,  then  Russia  will  have 
that  national  style  which  we  both  look  for  and 
ask  for.  About  the  details,  of  course,  it  is  still 
premature  to  hazard  conjectures. 

So  far  we  have  dealt  exclusively  with  ancient 
architecture.  Let  us  now  cast  a  rapid  glance 
over  the  other  arts  also,  especially  sculpture  and 
painting.  In  contradistinction  to  architecture 
these  two  arts  are  imitative.  Apart  from  the 
conditions  of  mere  technique  the  artist's  style  is 
defined  by  the  questions :  whom  or  what  to  imitate  ? 
in  what  manner  to  imitate  ?  The  special  character 
of  ancient,  that  is  to  say  again  Greek,  imitative  art, 
forms  an  answer  to  these  questions.  To  understand 
it  let  us,  on  this  subject  also,  start  from  as  elemen- 
tary a  scheme  as  possible,  as  simplified  as  it  can 
conceivably  be. 

Let  us  imagine,  to  begin  with,  the  primitive 
artist  who  first,  with  no  predecessor,  takes  it  on 


« 


himself  to  portray  some  object  or  other — let  us 
say  a  man.  It  is,  of  course,  obvious  that  the 
representation  obtained  under  these  circum- 
stances will  be  of  a  purely  fortuitous  character, 
according  to  the  way  in  which  the  artist  regards 
his  object  and  the  way  in  which  his  hand  obeys 
his  eyes.  Then  let  us  imagine  that  after  our  first 
artist  another  sets  himself  precisely  the  same 
problem.  That  second  artist  can  stand  towards 
the  first  in  one  of  three  relations.  In  the  first  place 
he  can  ignore  him.  In  that  case,  of  course,  his 
representation  will  be  just  as  fortuitous  as  his 
predecessor's  was.  If  we  imagine  subsequently 
also  such  an  attitude  of  successor  to  predecessor 
we  get  a  fortuitous  art  without  any  definite  style. 
In  the  second  place,  he  may  subordinate  himself 
entirely  to  his  predecessor's  influence  and  try  to 
reproduce  all  the  other's  manner.  If  the  former 
represented  the  human  torso  as  a  trapezium  resting 
on  a  rectangle,  then  he  also  will  have  recourse  to 
the  same  figure.  This  relation  gives  us  a  conven- 
tional art  with  a  very  severely  defined  style,  but 
progressive  only  in  the  sense  of  ever  greater  and 
greater  emphasising  of  the  conventional  elements. 
Lastly,  in  the  third  place,  the  second  artist  may 
divide  his  attention  between  his  predecessor  and 
the  object  represented.  He  studies  his  predecessor 
carefully  so  as  to  make  himself  entirely  master 
of  his  technique,  but  he  is  also  deeply  interested 
in  the  object  he  wishes  to  portray.  He  tries  to 
account  to  himself  for  those  deficiencies  which  were 
inherent  in  his  predecessor's  manner,  and  he  tries 

N 


178 


Our  Debt  to  Antiquity 


Our  Debt  to  Antiquity 


1 79 


also  to  come  nearer  to  nature  than  the  latter 
succeeded  in  doing.  With  such  a  relation  you  get 
an  art  which,  like  the  second,  possesses  a  style — 
as  far  as  each  artist  is  dependent  on  his  predecessors 
in  regard  to  technique,  but  which  is  also  progres- 
sive in  the  sense  of  showing  an  ever- increasing 
freedom  from  conventionality  and  approximation 
to  Nature.  So  there  are  three  possible  schemes. 
Now  you  know  that  schemes  in  their  abstract 
mathematical  nicety  are  never  to  be  met  with  in 
reality.  With  that  reservation,  we  may  say  that 
the  first,  fortuitous  art  is  characteristic  of  bar- 
barous peoples,  the  second,  conventional  art,  of  the 
peoples  of  the  near  and  far  East,  and  that,  finally, 
the  third,  natural  art,  was  invented  by  and  charac- 
teristic of  the  Greeks  alone  among  ancient  nations 
and  practised  in  modern  times  by  ourselves,  the 
peoples  of  European  civilisation,  under  the  in- 
fluence of  Greek  art.  Freedom  and  naturalness — 
that  is  the  first  characteristic  feature  of  ancient 
art. 

It  is  easy  to  be  convinced  that  it  is  so.  For  this 
purpose  our  St.  Petersburg  Hermitage  offers 
pecuharly  rich  facilities  of  which,  unfortunately, 
very  little  advantage  has  hitherto  been  taken.  I 
refer  to  those  memorials  of  ancient  Greek  painting 
which  are  known  by  the  name  of  "  painted  vases," 
and  which  occupy  several  large  rooms  in  the  lower 
storey.  There  you  may  observe  a  collection  not 
of  more  or  less  fortuitous  character,  such  as  there 
is  in  the  sculpture  gallery,  but  one  that  represents 
a  full  and  complete  circle  of  evolution.    The  most 


ancient  paintings  of  the  human  figure  on  the 
brown  archaic  vases  stand  but  little  above  a 
child's  wonderful  trapezium  on  a  rectangle.  Then 
follow  the  so-called  black-figured  vases,  with  far 
more  natural  though  still  very  angular  and  conven- 
tional representations.  Further  on  you  meet  with 
red- figured  vases,  also  of  different  styles — severe, 
beautiful,  free — and  you  see  one  conventionality 
being  dropped  after  another,  and  the  claims  of 
naturalness  being  satisfied  in  an  ever  greater  and 
greater  degree.  Later  still  the  tension  slackens,  lux- 
uriousness  and  carelessness  begin  to  reign,  decline 
and  degeneration  are  at  hand.  Scarcely  anywhere 
can  one  follow  that  deeply  instructive  evolution 
with  such  facility  as  in  the  vase  department  of  our 
Hermitage,  and  it  is  painful  to  see  how  these 
beautiful  rooms  are  nearly  always  empty,  and  how 
their  treasures  remain  but  buried  capital.  The 
Hermitage  authorities  might  do  much  to  mend 
matters.  It  depends  upon  them  to  come  to  the 
assistance  of  the  intelligently  interested  public 
and  supply,  instead  of  the  dry,  unintelligible 
catalogue  on  sale  at  present,  another  that  would 
give  more  prominence  to  the  evolutionary  and 
artistic  signification  of  our  magnificent  collection. 
Freedom  and  naturalness — that  combination  of 
qualities  forms  one  of  the  characteristic  marks  of 
ancient  art.  I  may  observe,  too,  in  this  connection 
that  it  is  thanks  chiefly  to  this  feature  that  ancient 
art  has  become  the  educator  of  modern  art.  Its 
revival  always  had  the  effect  of  teaching  artists 
once  more  to  see  and  recognise  nature  and  to 


i8o 


Our  Debt  to  Antiquity 


emancipate  them  from  the  conventionality  of  their 
epochs  ;  and  in  this  sphere  Antiquity  in  the  best 
periods  of  modem  art  was  not  a  model,  but  a  seed. 
But  that  does  not  exhaust  all  that  there  is  to  be 
said.  In  addition  to  freedom  and  naturalness, 
ancient  art  had  still  another  feature,  which  was 
also  important.  That  feature  we  call  idealism. 
This  word,  however,  requires  explanation.  It  is 
far  less  intelligible  than  it  seems  at  first  sight. 
As  applied  to  ancient  art,  the  term  does  not  refer 
to  the  fact  that  the  Greeks  represented  principally 
gods  and  goddesses,  and  not  ordinary  mortals, 
and  beauty  preferably  to  monstrosity  or  vulgarity 
— that  was  in  consequence  of  external  conditions 
which  made  the  statues  of  Apollo  or  Heracles  more 
in  demand  on  the  market  than  figures  of  fishermen 
or  drunk  women.  No,  idealism  passes  throughout 
the  whole  sphere  of  ancient  art,  not  excluding  even 
those  two  last  subjects.  We  shall  even  find  it 
easier  to  understand  and  estimate  this  quality  by 
considering  the  latter  rather  than  the  former  class 
of  persons. 

Let  us  take  an  artist  set  the  task  of  representing 
a  fisherman.  As  I  said  before,  he  is  a  realist, 
so  he  will  seek  the  fisherman  first  of  all  in  nature. 
But  nature  does  not  give  him  a  fisherman  simply 
or  even  a  Greek  fisherman  simply.  It  gives  him  a 
fisherman  Phrynichus  or  Komius,  that  is  to  say,  a 
figure  whose  outlines  characterise  it  as  not  only 
a  fisherman,  but  also  Phrynichus  or  Komius. 
Now  these  last  features  are  interesting  only  for 
the  fisherman's  personal  acquaintances,  whereas 


Our  Debt  to  Antiquity 


i8i 


the  lirst  interest  all  those  who  are  interested  m 
general  in  the  fisherman  type.  And  now  the  artist 
asks  himself :  what  is  there  in  that  aggregation  of 
marks  which  I  see  before  me  that  characterises 
their  possessor  as  being  just  a  fisherman  ?  What, 
in  other  words,  expresses  the  idea  of  fisherman  ? 
Corresponding  with  his  solution  of  that  question  he 
makes  his  figure.  His  aim  is  to  collect,  if  possible, 
all  the  marks  that  are  characteristic  of  a  fisherman 
as  such  and  remove,  if  possible,  all  the  fortuitous 
features  characteristic  of  the  individual  on  whom 
he  happened  to  light.  Of  course,  the  ability  to 
note  these  marks  was  not  given  to  the  Greeks 
all  at  once.  There  was  a  time  when  their  only 
way  of  representing  a  fisherman  was  to  represent 
a  man,  or  at  best  a  vulgar  man,  and  aim  at  in- 
telligibility by  putting  a  rod  or  caught  fish  in  his 
hands.  All  their  skill  was  won  in  process  of  time. 
And  that  ability  of  theirs  to  distinguish  the  marks 
of  the  species  from  the  marks  of  the  race  on  the 
one  hand,  and  those  of  the  individual  on  the  other, 
beyond  doubt  expresses  the  character  of  that  in- 
tellectual people  who  created  logic  and  philosophy 
generally. 

Such  is  the  idealism  of  ancient  art.  Its  essence, 
as  you  see,  is  the  demand  that  a  representation 
should  answer  to  the  idea  of  the  object  represented. 
Of  course,  the  highest  creations  of  that  idealism 
are  to  be  seen  in  the  superhuman  sphere,  in  the 
sphere  of  gods  and  heroes.  There  the  Greeks  hold 
not  merely  the  first,  but  the  only  place,  unrivalled 
by  any  other  people.    Many  peoples  had  felt  the 


l82 


Our  Debt  to  Antiquity 


need  of  representing  their  gods  and  understood 
also  that  for  the  artist  divinity  means  super- 
humanity,  but  whereas  all  other  nations  under- 
stood that  term  in  the  sense  of  monstrosity,  the 
Greeks  alone  conceived  it  in  the  meaning  of 
beauty.  Superhuman  beauty  was  a  creation  of 
the  ancient  genius  which  has  taught  us  also  to 
understand  and  reproduce  it.  That  one  point, 
however,  does  not  exhaust  the  educative  role  of 
ancient  art  in  the  field  surveyed  by  us  here— that 
is  only  one  of  the  aspects  of  ancient  idealism. 
But  all  its  aspects  have  been  necessary  to  us  at 
various  periods  of  the  development  of  our  art  and 
will  be  necessary  while  our  art  will  be  developed 
in  future,  that  is  to  say,  let  us  hope,  necessary 
always.  And  that  idealism  is  easily  connected 
with  the  first  characteristic  of  ancient  art  which 
I  noticed,  its  desire  for  naturalness  and  freedom. 
In  reality,  the  greatest  idealist  in  our  accepted 
sense  of  the  word  is  Nature  herself,  in  her  efforts 
toward  the  separation  and  individualisation  of 
species.  The  ancient  artist  only  anticipates  or 
continues  the  work  of  Nature  ;  he  creates  by  the 
same  law  of  selection  which  is  incumbent  upon 

her  also.  ... 

But  this  is,  perhaps,  too  intricate  and  difficult 
a  thought  to  be  pursued  here  with  the  short  time 
at  our  disposal.  Before  parting,  however,  with 
art,  and  therewith  also  with  the  signification  of 
Antiquity  generally  for  modern  culture,  I  should 
hke  to  draw  attention  to  one  feature  of  the  so- 
called  "  artistic  industry  "  of  Antiquity— a  sub- 


Our  Debt  to  Antiquity 


183 


ject  of  special  importance  and  interest  for  our  age, 
in  view  of  similar  attempts  in  the  modern  develop- 
ment of  that  sphere  of  human  activity. 

That  is  its  "animated"   character.     For  the 
ancient  his  objects  of  use  and  instruments  of  work 
were  not  simply  what  they  nominally  were,  but 
the  incarnations  or  personifications  of  the  forces 
acting  in  them  or  the  functions  fulfilled  by  them. 
When  I  spoke  about  the  column  I  mentioned  that 
it  appeared  to  the  ancient  as  the  incarnation  of  the 
force  that  acted  from  below  upwards  and  supported 
the  building.    The  expression  of  that  force  was  the 
slight  but  very  noticeable  ''  swelling  "  or  tension 
— li/Ttto-ts — of  the  column,  in  consequence  of  which 
its  profile  represented  not  a  straight,  but  a  slightly 
swelling  line.    We  can  trace  the  same  influence  at 
work    everywhere.      Take  the  ancient  pitcher— 
hydria.     When  it  is  set  down  it  seems  to  grow  up 
from  the  earth.    It  is  filled  with  forces  that  come 
out  of  the  earth,  and  so  it  has  the  form  of  a  soap 
bubble  blown  up  from  below  ;  it  is  thicker  at  the 
top  than  at  the  bottom.    A  weight,  on  the  other 
hand,  hangs  down.    The  force  in  it  acts  from  above 
downwards,  and  so  its  form  is  that  of  a  skin  full 
of  water  or  sand  and  hanging  down  ;   it  is  thicker 
at  the  bottom  than  at  the  top.    Take  a  poker  :  its 
business,  so  to  say,  is  to  pick  among  the  embers 
of  the  fire-pan,  and  so  its  end  is  made  in  the  shape 
of  a  man's  finger.    The  legs  of  a  table,  again,  are 
made  like  animals'  feet,  with  claws  sticking  firmly 
into  the  floor.    Take  the  battering-ram,  used  to 
break  down  walls  at  a  siege.    Its  action  produced 


1 84 


Our  Debt  to  Antiquity 


an  impression  of  butting,  and  so  its  extremity  was 
fashioned  like  a  ram's  head.  All  these  instances 
are,  of  course,  trifles,  but  these  trifles  express  a 
great  metaphysical  idea — the  idea  of  a  world  Will, 
the  development  of  which  was  the  task  set  before 
the  philosophy  of  the  latest  times. 

And  now  my  rapid  survey  of  the  significance  of 
Antiquity  for  modern  culture  is  finished.    I  have 
not  said,  of  course,  even  the  tenth  part  of  what 
might  have  been  said  on  this  theme,  but,  as  you 
are  aware,  a  full  exposition  did  not  indeed  enter 
into  my  purpose.     I  wished  to  bring  before  you 
merely  small  pictures.    If  you  have  mastered  the 
fundamental  idea  of  my   outline — namely   that 
Antiquity  should  be  for  us  not  a  model,  but  a  seed, 
then  you  will  easily  understand  also  the  most 
important  deduction  to  be  drawn  from  it.    That 
is    that    the    significance    of   Antiquity    for    our 
culture  will  never  cease,  and  that  our  link  with  it 
will  be  closer  and  more  intimate  with  every  century. 
Our  culture  has  come  from  that  seed.     It  cannot 
boast  of  a  single  at  all  essential  idea  which  could 
not  be  proved  with  absolutely  convincing  argu- 
ments to  have  developed  organically  from  it.    We 
have  enriched  many  times,   and  we  will  enrich 
hereafter  with  it,  the  seed-plots  of  our  culture, 
saving  them  from  exhaustion  and  degeneration — 
just  as  we  come  to  the  help  of  our  declining  vines 
and  other   plants  by  introducing  such  seeds  or 
shoots  from  the  original  nursery  or  vineyard. 

And  how  strange  it  is  !     While  every  intro- 
duction of  the  seed  of  Antiquity  has  raised  the 


Our  Debt  to  Antiquity 


185 


level  of  our  culture  and  created  immortal  works 
to  serve  in  their  turn  as  patterns  for  posterity,  the 
introduction  of  seeds  foreign  to  our  culture  has 
given  rise  only  to  hybrids  incapable  of  further 
multiplication.  In  the  time  of  Goethe  there  was 
Arabomania,  to  which  he  himself  yielded  in  his 
"  Eastern- Western  Divan."  Then  followed  Indo- 
mania,  the  bloom  of  which  was  the  philosophy  of 
Schopenhauer — not  all  of  it,  fortunately,  but  only 
the  most  sterile  part,  the  pessimism  that  is  linked 
unorganically  with  the  healthy,  fruitful  Platonism. 
Nowadays  Japanomania  has  become  the  fashion. 
It  has  given  us  many  monstrosities  of  so-called 
decadent  art  and  is  doomed  to  entire  disappear- 
ance, unless  one  is  to  count  the  harmless  and  un- 
real influence  it  exercises  on  our  decorative  arts. 
All  these  are  remarkable  phenomena  which  en- 
courage the  biological  attitude  toward  the  history 
of  civilisation  and  culture  ;  for,  as  you  know, 
animal  stocks  also  are  improved  by  means  of 
cross  -  breeding,  only  not  with  different  species, 
however  perfect  they  be  —  such  a  method  pro- 
duces only  hybrids  incapable  of  multiplication — 
but  with  pre-eminent  individuals  of  the  same 
species,  those  in  which  the  characteristic  marks 
have  attained  the  highest  possible  degree  of  per- 
fection. 

And  that  is  why  we  should  keep  the  door  lead- 
ing to  Antiquity  open.  It  can  help  us  both  now 
and  still  more  in  the  process  of  time.  For  that 
purpose  it  is  not  at  all  necessary  that  all  the 
members  of  any  given  society  shall  pass  through 


1 86 


Our  Debt  to  Antiquity 


the  furnace  of  classical  education — if  any  one 
understood  my  initial  lectures  in  that  sense,  he 
was  mistaken.  What,  then,  is  wanted  ?  Only 
that  each  community  should  contain  a  certain  per- 
centage of  people  with  a  classical  education,  and 
among  them,  again,  a  comparatively  small  amount 
of  people  who  have  consecrated  their  lives  to  the 
study  of  Antiquity  and  its  application  to  the  wants 
of  the  day.  Such  persons  will  be  occupied,  so  to 
say,  with  procuring  the  seeds.  These  seeds  will  be 
received  by  the  wider  circle  of  people  with  a 
classical  education  in  order  to  exchange  their 
fruits  with  people  educated  in  the  modern  sides  of 
schools,  or  having  an  apphed  technical  education. 
That  will  constitute  the  exchange  of  intellectual 
goods  of  which  I  spoke  before.  As  you  may  infer 
from  what  I  say,  society  needs  not  only  classical 
secondary  schools  but  several  types  of  such  schools, 
according  to  the  complex  nature  of  its  own 
organism  and  the  diversity  of  human  faculties. 
It  is  self-obvious  that  I,  as  a  man  having  preten- 
sions to  culture,  cherish  no  hostility  against  any 
one  of  these  types.  Hostility  I  feel,  and  that, 
too,  an  implacable  hostility  towards  only  the  "  uni- 
versal school,"  which  at  one  time  threatened  us, 
that  still-born  child  of  educational  adventurers, 
which  would  drive  all  faculties  alike  under  one 
common  yoke. 


I  have  now  discussed  two  divisions  of  our  pro- 
gramme— namely  the  value  of  Antiquity  for  educa- 


Our  Debt  to  Antiquity 


187 


( 


tion  and  its  importance  for  modern  culture.  Now 
I  must  proceed  to  consider  the  third  aspect  of  our 
subject  and  explain  to  you  its  signification  as  a 
science.  In  other  words,  I  must  show  you  what 
is  the  essence  of  the  science  which  deals  with 
Antiquity,  or  as  it  is  customarily  called,  classical 
study.  For  this  third  part  of  my  discourse  I  have 
left,  unfortunately,  very  little  time.  I  console 
myself  with  the  reflection  that  those  of  you  whom 
this  subject  interests  more  or  less  immediately, 
that  is  to  say,  those  of  you  who  intend  to  study 
classics  at  the  university,  will  have  the  opportunity 
of  hearing  my  course  of  lectures  in  the  Classical 
Faculty.  As  for  the  rest  of  the  class,  if  any  of  you 
feel  interested  enough  to  pursue  the  matter,  I 
can  do  no  more  than  indicate  my  article  "  Phil- 
ology," in  Brokhaus  and  Ephron's  Encyclopaedia. 
That  article,  of  course,  was  written  with  the  dry- 
ness which  is  the  inevitable  concomitant  of  dic- 
tionary articles.  As  a  counterpoise  to  that  un- 
attractive quality  I  shall  permit  myself  here  to 
give  a  short  rapid  survey,  my  chief  purpose  being 
to  develop  the  third  of  the  antitheses  with  which  I 
started  at  the  outset.  It  refers  to  the  point  which 
we  are  now  discussing.  We  formulated  it  somewhat 
as  follows  :  "The  world  has  grown  accustomed  to 
think  of  classics  as  a  thoroughly  investigated 
science  which  has  no  more  interesting  problems 
to  offer  to  creative  work.  But  men  aware  of  the 
true  position  of  matters  will  tell  you  that  it  is 
now  more  interesting  than  ever,  that  all  the  work 
of  preceding  generations  was  merely  preparatory, 


^  f^  i 


i88 


Our  Debt  to  Antiquity 


Our  Debt  to  Antiquity 


189 


merely  the  foundation  on  which  we  are  only  now 
beginning  to  build  the  actual  fabric  of  our  know- 
ledge, that  new  problems  beckoning  us  to  investiga- 
tion and  solution  meet  us  at  every  step  in  this 
field  of  science." 

The  first  part  of  this  antithesis  does,  indeed, 
accurately  represent  the  opinion  of  society— and 
not  merely  of  so-called  "  society,"  but  also  fre- 
quently of  people  who  stand  in  closer  relations 
to  the  subject.    One  of  my  students,  an  able  and 
energetic  man,  was  pitchforked  by  Fate  into  the 
Oriental  Faculty  and  became  passionately  attached 
to  the  history  of  the  East.     With  a  neophyte's 
enthusiasm,  he  wrote  that  the  history  of  the  East 
is  far  more  interesting  than  the  history  of  Greece, 
inasmuch  as  it  has   been   far  less  investigated! 
These  words  led  me  to  reflections  of  this  nature. 
The  history  of  the  East  is  far  more  interesting 
—  why  ?     Because   it   has   been   far   less   in ves- 
tigated.      And  when   it   has   been    investigated, 
will  it    cease  to  be  interesting  ?      If    so,   then 
the  student's    duty  is   to  turn    interesting  into 
uninteresting    studies.       It    is    worth    while    to 
meditate  over  this  question.     And,  indeed,  what 
is   science   for   us  ?     What    do   we  consider  to 
be  its  value  ?     I  do  not  speak,  of  course,  about 
so-called  applied  science,  but  about  pure  science, 
of  which  classical  scholarship  forms  one  branch! 
Are  we  to  see  in  science  merely  a  great  head- 
sphtting  labour  like  those  toys  for  children  and 
grown-ups,  whose  puzzle— taking  off  a  ring  from 
a  cross  and  so  on— interests  you  only  till  you  find 


1 


J 


the  solution  ?  Or  is  there  something  else  in  it 
absolutely  valuable,  and  do  we,  its  representatives, 
work  not  merely  for  our  own  satisfaction  to  banish 
ennui,  but  indeed  for  the  good  of  mankind  ? 

It  is  clear  that  the  second  alternative  is  more 
in  harmony  with  public  opinion,  otherwise  so- 
ciety would  certainly  not  maintain  universities, 
academies,  and  libraries  at  its  expense  and  feed 
a  multitude  of  people  whose  only  vocation  is  the 
study  of  science  and  the  solution  of  its  problems. 
And  if  science  as  such  is  interesting  and  valuable, 
then  it  is  obvious  that  its  interest  grows  and  does 
not  diminish  with  its  investigation.  So  I  am  fully 
justified  in  telling  my  friend  that  he  is  mistaken. 
Greek  history  is  far  more  interesting  than  Oriental, 
and  just  because  it  has  been  far  more  investigated. 
That  rough  labour,  the  results  of  which  are  valu- 
able not  in  themselves,  but  because  they  are  the 
hypotheses  or  weapons  for  other  positively  valu- 
able results — that  rough  labour,  I  say,  in  classical 
study  has  already  been  largely  done.  That 
formed  precisely  the  work  of  former  generations, 
and  we  ought  to  be  grateful  to  them  for  their 
honourable  and  disinterested  services. 

And  what  is  that  rough  labour  ?  you  ask.  I 
answer,  first  of  all,  the  collection  of  records.  In 
classical  study  a  record  is  the  first  element  of 
scientific  work,  just  as  a  number  in  arithmetic, 
or  an  individual  in  natural  history,  or  a  phenome- 
non in  physics.  The  records  with  which  the  classical 
student  has  to  deal  are  of  different  kinds.  To 
begin  with,  the  country  itself  which  was  the  scene 


« 


I90 


Our  Debt  to  Antiquity 


of  the  history  of  the  ancient  peoples,  and  not 
merely  in   its  external  features,  but   also  in   its 
geological,  botanical,  and  meteorological  aspects. 
Oral  tradition  and  customs  are  also  records  when 
they    have    descended    in    unbroken    continuity 
from  the   early  generations  to  the   modern   in- 
habitants.    Next,   the  immediate  works  of  the 
ancients,  which  have  survived  up  to  our  day, 
even  though  in  a  mutilated  appearance,  whether 
they  be  ruins  of  buildings,  or  statues,  or  vases,  or 
inscriptions.     Finally,   the  text  of  this  or  that 
writer,  preserved   for  us  even  in  late  mediaeval 
manuscripts.    We  distinguish  between  these  four 
types — geographical,   ethnological,  archaeological, 
and   philological.      It    is   their   collection    which 
made  and  makes  the  first  necessary  condition  for 
fruitful  study — but  not  merely  their  collection. 
During  these  fifteen   hundred  to  two  thousand 
years  which  separate  us  from  the  ancient  world 
they  have  been  exposed  to  important  changes. 
The  outlines  of  the  shores  and  the  courses  of  the 
rivers  have  altered.     Popular  legends  have  been 
mutilated  in  transition  from  one  generation  to 
another.     Statues  or  vases  survive  in  a  merely 
fragmentary  condition.    Texts  have  suffered  from 
the  ignorance  or  misplaced  ingenuity  of  copyists. 
It  was  necessary,  therefore,  to  restore  them,  as 
far  as  possible,  to  their  original  appearance  by 
subjecting  them  to  what  is  called  classical  criticism. 
All  this  formed  the  rough  labour  of  which  I 
spoke.     I  have  told  you  already  that  it  formed 
the  main  task  of  preceding  generations,  to  whom 


Our  Debt  to  Antiquity 


191 


[i 


we  owe  our  existing  admirable  collections — ^his- 
torical atlases,  the  so-called  corpora  of  inscrip- 
tions, bas-reliefs,  money,  and  so  on.  These  col- 
lections make  it  possible  for  us  to  work  comfort- 
ably and  profitably  in  our  sphere  of  science,  to 
study  and  shed  light  on  the  most  interesting  and 
intimate  aspects  of  the  hfe  of  the  ancient  world. 
None  the  less,  we  cannot  say  that  the  work  of 
collecting  records  is  finished — there  is  much  to 
be  done  still.  Excavations  in  Greece,  Italy,  and 
elsewhere — among  other  places  in  our  own  country, 
in  the  territory  of  the  Greek  colonists  in  the  south 
of  Russia — have  never  been  interrupted  and  con- 
tinue to  enrich  our  treasure  house  with  records, 
especially  archaeological  records.  The  last  ten 
years  have  been  marked  by  unexpected,  and 
occasionally  quite  wonderful,  discoveries  of  Egyp- 
tian papyri  with  classical  texts  that  had  been 
given  up  for  lost.  Thus  there  were  found  the 
treatise  of  Aristotle  about  the  Athenian  state, 
charming  genre  scenes  of  Herodas,  speeches  of 
Hyperides,  a  contemporary  of  Demosthenes,  odes 
and  ballads  of  Bacchylides,  a  contemporary  of 
Pindar,  and  quite  lately  a  nome  of  Timotheus,  the 
only  representative  we  have  of  that  enigmatical 
type  of  lyrical  poetry.  And,  of  course,  that  is  not 
all — ^the  sure  sands  of  Egypt  contain  still  many 
treasures,  and  each  day  we  may  expect  news  that 
there  has  been  found  some  pearl  of  ancient  litera- 
ture, poems  of  Sappho,  for  example,  or  comedies 
of  Menander.  .  .  .  Our  fathers  did  not  know  that 
feeling.    In  their  time  the  gaps  in  ancient  literature 


192 


Our  Debt  to  Antiquity 


were  considered  as  finally  and  irretrievably  void. 
I  repeat  :  never  yet  has  classical  study  been  so 
interesting  as  now. 

But,  of  course,  its  interest  does  not  lie  merely 
in  the  fact  that  the  material  for  study  is  constantly 
being  enlarged  by  fresh  discoveries.  The  chief 
point  is  that,  thanks  to  the  work  of  former  genera- 
tions, we  can  address  ourselves  to  our  science  with 
vastly  more  important  questions  than  our  pre- 
decessors could.  Thanks  to  the  work  of  former 
generations — yes,  we  should  always  remember 
about  their  work  with  profound  gratitude,  for  it 
was  very  exhausting  and  self-sacrificing  toil.  First 
of  all,  men  studied  the  languages  of  the  ancient 
peoples  in  their  grammatical  and  lexicographical 
composition  more  carefully  and  fully  than  any 
other  language  in  the  world.  The  result  of  their 
labours  was  the  profusely  illustrated  handbooks 
and  dictionaries — not  those,  of  course,  which  are 
famihar  to  you  in  your  school  course,  but  enormous 
volumes,  the  material  for  which  was  drawn  from 
the  whole  sphere  of  ancient  literature.  It  will  be 
enough  to  mention  that  the  "Thesaurus  linguae 
Graecae  "  of  Stephanus,  that  is  to  say,  Etienne,  the 
French  scholar  of  the  seventeenth  century,  com- 
prises in  the  new  edition  nine  supplementary 
volumes  in  folio,  and  that  the  corresponding 
"Thesaurus  linguae  Latinae,"  in  the  preparation  of 
which  almost  all  classical  Germany  is  at  the 
present  moment  engaged,  promises  to  be  still 
more  imposing.  So  thus  we  are  able,  by  studying 
the  history  of  any  word,  to  penetrate  to  the  very 


Our  Debt  to  Antiquity 


193 


soul  of  Antiquity — language,  as  you  remember,  is 
the  confession  of  a  people. 

But  this  picture,  perhaps,  is  not  very  attractive 
for  you.  Well,  at  any  rate,  let  us  be  content  that 
the  work  in  this  connection  has  been,  to  a  consider- 
able extent,  already  done.  Another  very  im- 
portant branch  of  this  labour  was  the  publication 
of  explanatory  editions  of  the  classical  authors — 
again,  not  those  which  you  know,  but  of  another 
kind,  the  aim  of  which  was  to  connect  together  by 
a  chain  or  net  of  ideas  all  the  records  of  ancient 
literature  with  copious  references  to  the  correspond- 
ing records  of  archaeology  and  the  other  aspects  of 
classical  learning.  Thanks  to  that  labour  I  have 
to  possess  but  one  piece  of  evidence  to  acquire 
immediately  all  the  others — and  how  far  that  con- 
venience in  the  finding  of  material  lightens 
scientific  study  you  can  easily  imagine.  A  third 
branch  of  the  work  was  the  compilation  of  dry, 
but  very  comprehensive,  guides  in  the  various 
departments  of  classical  learning — political  his- 
tory, the  history  of  literature,  mythology,  law, 
state  administration,  and  so  on,  with  the  citation 
of  all  the  evidence  afforded  not  merely  by  litera- 
ture but  also  by  inscriptions  and  the  other  kinds 
of  records. 

All  these  subjects,  then,  taken  together  con- 
stitute that  foundation  of  which  I  spoke,  and  on 
which  we  are  only  now  beginning  to  build  the 
fabric  of  our  knowledge.  Of  course,  the  founda- 
tion itself  is  not  yet  quite  complete.  Fresh  dis- 
coveries are  constantly  adding  to  and  strengthen- 


194 


Our  Debt  to  Antiquity 


Our  Debt  to  Antiquity 


195 


ing  it,  and  this  will  be  so  for  a  long  time  to  come. 
None  the  less,  it  is  now  sufficiently  firm  to  support 
a  substantial  building.  And  what  sort  of  a  building 
that  will  be  you  will  easily  understand,  if  I  tell 
you  that  as  yet  we  have  no  history  of  ancient 
religion,  nor  even  of  mythology  in  its  develop- 
ment, no  history  of  ancient  morality  and  mental 
outlook  on  things,  no  history  of  the  intellectual, 
of  the  ordinary,  or  even  of  the  material  civilisation 
of  the  ancient  peoples,  no  intelligent  history  of 
the  ancient  literatures,  no  history  of  economic  and 
social  phenomena  even  in  their  main  factors,  such 
as  property  or  capitalism,  and  so  on  :  if  I  tell  you 
that  the  famous  scholar  Ihehring  was  occupied  in 
the  last  days  of  his  hfe  by  the  idea  of  a  history  of 
Roman  law,  which  he  proposed  to  make  a  refer- 
ence book  not  only  for  the  jurist,  but  for  every 
educated  man — an  idea  which  has  to  this  day  re- 
mained unrealised.  .  .  . 

For  every  educated  man.  Yes,  classical  learn- 
ing indeed  is  a  science  to  which  the  whole  educated 
world  turns  without  distinction  of  special  occupa- 
tions. But  it  also  stands  in  what  is  known  as 
mutualistic  relations  with  that  world.  It  borrows 
from  the  whole  sphere  of  knowledge.  Our  op- 
ponents keep  harping  on  its  lack  of  self-sufficiency 
and  count  that  as  a  ground  for  reproach.  In  my 
opinion,  however,  that  expression  is  a  term  of  the 
highest  eulogy.  Yes,  our  branch  of  science  is  not 
self-sufficient.  At  every  turn  we  are  forced  to 
appeal  for  advice  and  evidence  to  the  representa- 
tives of  the  other  departments  of  knowledge,  even 


in  the  comparatively  narrow  region  of  school 
classical  reading,  as  I  explained  to  you  in  my  fourth 
lecture.  This  is  because  the  science  deahng  with 
the  ancient  world  deals  with  the  world.  It 
unites  all  branches  of  knowledge  on  the  basis  of 
phenomena,  just  as  philosophy  unites  them  on  the 
ground  of  principles.  The  mathematician,  the 
student  of  chemistry,  and  even  of  language,  can 
pass  his  whole  time  within  closed  doors,  within 
the  four  walls  which  enclose  the  special  subject 
of  his  study.  The  classical  scholar  cannot  do  so, 
if  only  he  wishes  to  be  a  learned  man  and  not  a 
mere  craftsman.  And  the  result  of  this  constant 
intercourse  with  other  sciences  is  a  broad  outlook 
on  things,  a  consciousness  of  the  unity  of  know- 
ledge and  a  respect  towards  its  different  branches. 
However,  you  know  that  already.  It£is  now 
time  to  answer  another  question  which  you  may 
raise.  I  mentioned  a  whole  series  of  problems 
awaiting  the  classical  scholarship  of  our  times 
and  the  near  future,  the  history  of  ancient  religion, 
of  intellectual  culture,  and  so  on.  Well,  and  when 
you  solve  these  problems — you  may  ask — what 
will  you  do  then  ?  When  that  times  comes  I 
believe  that  it  will  itself  present  new  problems, 
about  which  speculation  at  the  present  moment 
is  mere  waste  of  time.  Even  those  tasks  which  I 
have  just  mentioned  were  not  dreamt  of  a  hundred 
years  ago.  But  one  task  will  always  remain  for 
us,  as  it  has  remained  up  to  this  time — the  duty 
of  utilising  the  treasures  of  Antiquity  to  suit  the 
needs  of  the  age,  the  duty  of  mediation  between 


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'M'i% 


our  world  and  the  ancient  world.  It  is  not  for 
ourselves  that  we  work  and  not  for  our  own  branch 
of  knowledge  only.  Our  science  has  no  ground  for 
existence,  no  right  to  exist,  outside  of  mankind  by 
whom  and  for  whom  it  is  being  built  up.  We  work 
for  you,  for  your  contemporaries  and  descendants 
— in  a  word,  for  society. 

Even  then,  you  ask,  supposing  society  does  not 
want  to  know  you  or  your  work  ?  Yes,  gentlemen, 
even  then.  And  yet,  whether  that  supposition  be 
true,  and  as  far  as  it  is  true  why  and  for  what 
reason  it  should  be  so — about  all  that  I  must  say 
a  few  words  in  the  following  lecture,  which  is  the 
last. 


LECTURE    VIII 

OUR  talks  have  come  back  to  the  point  whence 
they  started.  We  began  by  formulating 
the  fundamental  difference  that  lies  between  the 
view  of  the  world  at  large  regarding  the  value  of 
a  classical  training  for  education,  for  culture,  and 
as  a  science — between  that  view  and  the  opinion 
of  the  persons  aware  of  the  true  facts  of  the  case. 
Then  I  gave  you  to  understand  that  this  view  of 
society,  in  so  far  as  it  is  expressed  in  a  conscious 
contempt  for  Antiquity,  cannot  compare  for 
authority  with  that  unconscious  respect  which 
precisely  the  same  society  has  paid  to  it,  and  which 
has  preserved  its  influence  over  the  world  during 
these  many  centuries  after  the  fall  of  the  ancient 
world  itself. 

Let  us  grant  that  this  attitude  of  conscious  con- 
tempt is  not  characteristic  of  all  modern  society. 
Still,  it  is  a  fact  as  regards  a  considerable  part  of 
it,  and  as  such  it  requires  an  explanation.  This 
also  I  gave  you  at  the  outset  of  my  lectures.  We 
can  analyse,  I  said,  the  meaning  of  the  hostility 
shown  towards  classical  education  ;  we  can  dis- 
tinguish the  part  played  in  it  by  well-meaning 
involuntary  delusion  from  that  which  betrays 
conscious  deception.     I  began,  however,  not  with 

197 


198 


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this  negative,  but  with  the  positive  aspect  of 
our  subject.  I  showed  you  what  constitutes  the 
importance  of  a  classical  training  for  education, 
for  culture,  and  as  a  science.  If  Logos  was  gracious 
to  you  and  to  myself,  if  the  task  of  persuasion 
which  brought  us  hither  has  not  proved  a  failure, 
then  you  know  now  that  the  opinion  of  the  minority 
is  the  correct  view,  and  that  consequently  the 
attitude  of  the  majority,  which  is  at  variance  with 
it,  can  only  be  explained  as  due  to  misunderstand- 
ing or  deception.  However,  to  leave  no  room  for 
doubt,  I  shall  bring  you  independent  evidence  for 
the  negative  part  of  my  subject  as  well.  And  there- 
with I  shall  consider  my  task  accomplished. 

Either  deception  or  misunderstanding.  .  .  . 
Now  in  reality  both  the  one  and  the  other  are 
equally  contrary  to  that  feehng  for  truth  which  a 
classical  training  implants  in  us.  You  remember 
that  it  makes  not  one  but  two  demands  of  us  ; 
firstly,  do  not  lie,  and  secondly,  do  not  he  mis- 
taken— in  those  cases,  of  course,  where  it  is 
possible  not  to  be  mistaken,  where  there  are  people 
and  data  to  direct  us  to  the  path  of  truth.  The 
moral  signification,  however,  of  these  two  sins 
against  truth  is  different.  It  is  a  pleasure  to  point 
out  the  proper  path  to  the  victim  of  a  mistake, 
but  it  is  no  pleasure,  very  far  from  a  pleasure, 
to' expose  the  methods  of  deceit.  Let  me  begin 
with  the  second  distasteful  part  of  my  subject  to 
be  the  sooner  rid  of  it. 

First  of  all  we  must  remember  that  these  methods 
are  not  the  original  cause  of  that  hostility  of  which 


Our  Debt  to  Antiquity 


199 


I  speak — on  the  contrary,  they  necessarily  pre- 
suppose it.  Deception  would  have  found  no 
credence  and  so  would  have  failed  of  its  purpose, 
had  it  not  fallen  on  hearts  ahready  prepared  to 
receive  it.  This  consideration,  however,  not  only 
does  not  justify  it,  but  is  far  from  proving  it  harm- 
less. Misunderstanding  creates  only  a  thin  haze 
of  uncertainty  which  the  shafts  of  truth  could  still 
penetrate.  But  the  dense  fog  of  conscious  de- 
ception thickens  it  and  converts  it  at  last  into 
that  impenetrable  darkness  which  chokes  us  and 
drives  us  to  despair.  The  history  of  all  popular 
movements  is  full  of  examples  of  this  principle.  To 
begin  with,  some  person  or  institution  or  idea  falls 
from  popularity,  sometimes  deservedly,  sometimes 
not.  Individuals  come  forward  directly  as  popular 
leaders,  and  to  heighten  their  influence  pile  up  all 
manner  of  fictitious  scandals  about  the  object  of 
popular  dislike.  Their  method  the  Romans  called 
crescere  ex  aliquo.  Such  calumnies  are  sure  to 
meet  with  success.  Every  kind  of  nonsense  wins 
credence,  the  calumniator  becomes  a  universal 
favourite,  and  woe  to  that  foolish  zealot  for  truth 
who  should  conceive  the  idea  of  refuting  him. 

But,  you  will  ask,  where  do  I  find  deception  and 
deceivers  in  the  case  under  consideration  ?  There, 
I  answer,  where  self-elected  guides  of  popular 
opinion  step  forth  on  the  scene  in  the  columns  of 
newspapers,  the  pages  of  magazines,  and  modern 
journalism  generally.  But  how  can  we  trace  them 
there  ?  By  collecting  all  the  lies  and  slanders 
diffused  through  all  Russia  in  our  journalistic 


200 


Our  Debt  to  Antiquity 


organs  ?  That  is  not  enough.  We  must  expose 
the  methods  of  deception.  We  must  show  how  it 
in  one  case  ignores  facts,  in  another  wilfully 
distorts  them,  in  a  third  juggles  and  cheats  with 
them  like  the  veriest  card-sharper.  .  .  .  But, 
gentlemen,  where  can  we  find  time  for  all  that  } 
And  yet  I  must  direct  your  attention  to  this 
campaign  of  fraud,  for  I  wish  to  inspire  you  with 
a  sagacious  suspicion  of  these  evil-intentioned 
guides  of  your  opinion.  Fortunately  there  is 
another  path  available,  which  is  shorter  and  not 
less  conclusive.  I  shall  indicate  a  case  of  deception 
in  a  quarter  where  least  of  all  you  would  expect 
it  by  all  internal  and  external  conditions,  and  then 
I  shall  leave  it  to  you  to  make  the  following 
deduction  :  "  If  they  do  these  things  in  a  green 
tree,  what  shall  be  done  in  the  dry  ?  "  You  will 
understand  that  under  these  circumstances  my 
words  imply  as  much  respect  to  the  person,  whom 
I  shall  name,  as  reproach,  for  by  citing  him  prefer- 
ably to  others  I  own  him  to  be  the  green  tree. 
And  now  allow  me  to  read  you  the  passage  which 
I  have  in  view.  Here  it  is.  The  author  is  referring 
to  classical  examinations  : 

*'  And  yet  all  these  thick  note-books  have  to  be 
crammed  and  known  in  every  trifling  detail.  For 
example,  the  subject  discussed  is  some  literary 
work  of  the  ancient  world,  and  in  the  course  of 
the  lecture  two  or  three  closely  written  pages  are 
devoted  to  showing  under  whose  editorship,  in 
what  year  and  place — Venice,  Amsterdam,  Rome, 
Paris — that  work  has  been  published  during  the 


'I 


Our  Debt  to  Antiquity 


201 


course  of  two  thousand  (sic)  years.  All  this  it  is 
absolutely  necessary  to  know.  Should  the  student 
make  a  mistake  in  the  year  of  publication  or  in 
the  editor's  name,  the  professor  throws  up  his 
hands  in  horror  : 

"  *  Preserve  us  !  What  do  you  mean  ?  Now, 
how  without  knowing  that  can  you  consider  your- 
self an  educated  man  ?  * 

*'  Is  it  surprising  under  such  circumstances  that 
our  young  men  are  generally  so  shockingly  back- 
ward ?  "     And  so  on. 

I  have  taken  this  passage  from  a  book  which 
enjoyed  a  wide  circulation,  and  three  editions  of 
which  ran  out  in  a  short  period — the  year  1903. 
Its  title  is  **  The  School  and  Life,"  and  its  author 
Father  G.  S.  Petroff.  What  is  one  to  say  about 
it? 

Well,  first  of  all,  I  think  that  it  would  have  been 
fitting  for  a  man  who  writes  and  publishes  books 
to  have  known  in  what  year,  or,  if  he  is  so  averse 
to  precise  data,  then  roughly  in  about  what 
century,  the  art  of  printing  was  invented,  and  not 
to  have  spoken  about  editions  of  the  ancient 
authors  published  in  Venice  and  Amsterdam  with 
the  date  of  their  appearance  and  the  name  of  the 
editor  for  these  two  thousand  years.  But  that 
point  is  not  vital  for  us.  The  author  is  discussing, 
as  I  said,  classical  examinations.  He  does  not  give 
the  source  of  his  evidence,  but  no  matter — I  am 
justified  in  saying  that  no  one  here  in  Petersburg 
is  more  conversant  with  these  subjects  than  I  am. 
Not  only  do  I  hold  these  examinations  in  our 


i:, 


202 


Our  Debt  to  Antiquity 


Petersburg  University,  but  for  the  last  ten  or 
twelve  years  I  have  been  every  year  president  of 
the  Classical  Board  of  Examiners  in  one  or  other 
of  the  provincial  universities.  Permit  me,  then, 
to  assert,  on  the  ground  of  that  fairly  wide  ex- 
perience, that  Father  Petroff's  description  of 
classical  examinations  is  the  purest  invention 
without  any  likeness,  even  external,  to  reahty. 
No  examinations  are  held  in  Russia  in  the  way  he 
represents.  Of  course,  lists  of  the  editions  of  an 
author  are  to  be  found  in  the  so-called  Bibliotheca 
Scriptoriim — though,  as  you  may  guess,  not  for 
two  thousand  years,  but  for  four  hundred  and  a 
little  more.  That  is  exceedingly  useful  material 
for  the  information  of  classical  scholars  like  myself, 
but  not  one  of  us  would  dream  of  driving  that 
material  into  our  own  heads,  much  less  of  asking 
it  from  our  students.  I  must  admit,  too,  that 
there  are  answers  given  at  examinations  which 
make  the  professors  hold  up  their  hands  in  horror, 
but  they  are  never  about  the  year  or  place  of  an 
edition  or  an  author.  And  yet,  unfortunately,  it 
is  certain  that  such  absurdities  as  the  one  which 
I  have  instanced  are  not  only  morally  reprehen- 
sible but  also  practically  harmful.  Not  long  ago 
one  of  the  students  whom  I  was  questioning  in 
my  capacity  as  chairman  of  the  examining  board 
complained  to  me  that  absolutely  similar  fabrica- 
tions had  caused  him  to  waste  a  year  of  his  life. 
He  was  a  classic  by  inclination,  but  he  could  not 
bring  himself  to  inscribe  his  name  in  the  Classical 
Faculty,  because  in  the  provincial  town  where  he 


Our  Debt  to  Antiquity 


203 


had  finished  his  school  education  he  was  told  that 
the  only  work  done  in  that  Faculty  was  Greek 
and  Latin  composition.  He  embraced  medicine, 
and  a  whole  year  passed  before  he  returned  to  his 
favourite  study,  convinced  at  last  by  observing 
the  occupations  of  the  classical  undergraduates 
that  these  stories  were  untrue.  And  who  knows  ? 
Perhaps  at  this  very  moment  some  young  man  or 
other  in  the  provinces,  reading  Father  Petroff's 
book  about  the  charms  of  classical  examinations, 
and  not  suspicious  of  any  fraud,  is  making  a  vow 
that  nothing  shall  induce  him  to  enter  the  Classical 
Faculty  despite  his  abilities  and  taste  for  that 
branch  of  study,  with  the  result  that  he  may  be 
beaten  out  of  his  line  not  for  one  year,  but  for  all 
his  life. 

Of  course,  gentlemen,  you  understand  that  my 
instance  is  only  a  sample,  only  a  small  glass  of 
the  enormous  bucket  of  slander  with  which  we 
are  deluged  in  modern  journalism.  My  instance  is 
interesting  in  the  first  place  because  its  label  bears 
a  well-known  and  respected  name,  and  secondly, 
because  here  the  slander,  if  I  may  use  the  expres- 
sion, is  taken  in  flagrante  delicto.  It  is  not  so  easy 
in  all  cases.  But  still,  I  beg  you  to  remember  one 
thing.  When  you  read  in  the  newspapers  or  else- 
where a  condemnation  of  classical  study  as  a 
science  and  as  a  force  for  education  and  culture, 
then  be  sure  that  this  is  an  attempt  to  deceive 
you.  This  warning  should  be  borne  in  mind, 
especially  when  the  author  has  not  the  courage 
to  sign  his  name  and  takes  cowardly  shelter  behind 


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Our  Debt  to  Antiquity 


an  anonymous  or  false  signature.  You  will  also 
understand,  I  hope,  that  personally  I  have  nothing 
against  Father  Petroff,  who,  indeed,  is  far  more 
after  my  heart  than  his  enemies.  On  the  contrary, 
I  respect  his  missionary  enterprise  and  wish  him 
success  in  it.  Let  him  sow  the  seeds  of  good  and 
truth,  let  him  teach  people  to  observe  the  ten 
commandments,  but  let  him  observe  them  himself 
also — all  of  them,  not  excluding  the  ninth. 

Let  us  now  dismiss  the  question  of  deception 
and  proceed  to  consider  the  second  less  objection- 
able source  of  popular  hostility  against  the  classics, 
namely,  misunderstanding.  In  regard  to  this  point 
we  should  distinguish  between  the  classical  world 
as  an  object  of  education  and  as  a  force  for  culture. 
The  third  division  of  our  subject,  namely,  the  value 
of  classical  study  as  a  science,  does  not  call  for 
mention  in  this  connection.  Of  course,  this  third 
aspect  also  suffers  from  the  nonsense  propagated 
abroad,  and  especially  in  print.  To  speak  seriously, 
however,  not  a  single  thinking  man  questions 
but  that  a  science  dealing  with  the  classics  has  as 
much  right  to  exist  as  Sanskritology,  Egyptology, 
or  other  equally  inoffensive  branches  of  know- 
ledge. Moreover,  the  second  aspect  also  may  be 
dismissed.  Our  motto,  "  Not  a  model,  but  a  seed," 
sufficiently  indicates  where  the  misunderstanding 
lies  on  this  score.  We  shall  deal,  therefore,  only 
with  the  first  aspect,  namely,  the  prejudice  against 
a  classical  education  in  schools.  Both  in  Russia 
and  in  Western  Europe  it  is  reproached  with  two 
offences. 


Our  Debt  to  Antiquity 


205 


^ 


r 


I 


Firstly,  it  is  unnecessary ;  secondly,  it  is  diffi- 
cult. These  two  charges,  which  are  common  to 
Russia  and  Europe,  are  augmented  with  us  by 
a  third,  which  constitutes  our  national  peculiarity. 
Classical  education,  please  remark,  is  retrograde  ! 
This  is  the  point  to  which  the  catch- words  refer 
— classical  obscurantism,  classical  *'  muzzles,"  and 
so  on.  We  shall  reserve  this  consideration  for  later 
on  :  to  work  time,  to  amusement  an  hour. 

And  as  work  in  this  connection  let  us  consider 
the  first  reproach,  namely,  that  classical  education 
in  schools  is  unnecessary.  I  have  mentioned  it 
here,  of  course,  not  to  refute  it.  Why  it  is  necessary 
I  have  already  tried  to  explain  to  you,  as  far  as 
time  allowed,  in  my  first  four  lectures.  My  task 
now  is  a  different  one.  I  must  analyse  public 
opinion  and  show  you  how  a  prejudice  against 
classics  could  and  must  have  arisen.  And  the 
reasons  are  quite  clear.  In  estimating  the  value 
of  a  branch  of  knowledge  a  man  inexperienced  in 
the  work  in  question  is  apt  to  adopt  a  narrow 
utilitarian  point  of  view  and  make  its  value 
dependent  on  its  immediate  apphcability  to  life 
and  practical  work.  Let  us  take  a  ready-made 
dress  as  an  example.  Every  savage  will  under- 
stand that  a  dress  is  a  useful  thing,  protecting  one 
as  it  does  from  heat  and  cold.  Now  show  that 
savage  a  sewing  machine.  He  will  merely  wave 
his  arms,  not  understanding  what  is  the  use  of 
such  a  thing.  But  it  may  be  shown  to  him,  by 
illustration,  that  it  is  this  machine  which  makes 
the  dress,  and  he  will  now,  though  without  under- 


2o6 


Our  Debt  to  Antiquity 


standing  anything,  admit  its  use.  But  then  these 
sewing  machines,  in  their  turn,  are  made  some- 
how or  other.  Special  factories  exist  for  this 
purpose  and  turn  out,  with  a  deafening  din  of 
machinery,  rods,  pinions,  screws,  nuts,  and  so  on. 
Take  any  of  these  factory  machines,  and  a  man 
without  technical  education  will  not  understand 
in  the  least  what  is  the  use  of  it.  It  is  the  same 
with  classical  education.  The  mental  work  im- 
mediately useful  for  the  world  is  produced  by  the 
mind — that  is  our  sewing  machine.  But  the  mind 
also  must  be  produced  somehow  or  other  and 
adapted  for  useful  work.  One  of  the  machines 
which  produce  it  is  our  classical  education  in 
schools.  This  fact,  however,  can  be  understood 
only  by  a  man  who  possesses  the  corresponding 
technical  knowledge.  A  man  without  that  know- 
ledge will  always  be  inchned  to  admit  that  in- 
struction in  the  classics  is  a  useless  waste  of  time 
and  labour. 

And  labour.  .  .  .  Yes,  and  that  word  brings 
us  to  the  second  reproach  levelled  at  classical 
education  in  schools.  Here  the  misunderstanding 
obviously  does  not  consist  in  the  fact  itself — 
classical  work  in  schools  is  difficult  if  pursued 
conscientiously — there  is  no  need  of  discussing 
the  point.  The  misunderstanding  lies  in  the  de- 
duction, which  is  drawn  from  that  fact.  It  is 
difficult,  people  say,  and  so  away  with  it  !  It  is 
difficult,  I  rejoin,  and  that  is  an  extra  reason  for 
keeping  it.  I  ask  you,  gentlemen,  to  pay  special 
attention  to  this  point.    Now  more  than  ever  I 


Our  Debt  to  Antiquity 


207 


shall  be  forced  to  lean  upon  the  thinker's  code  of 
honour.  I  shall  have  to  warn  you  against  being 
carried  away  by  one  very  honourable  and  amiable 
feeling,  namely,  the  sentiment  of  humanity.  I 
have  been  long  conscious  of  one  retort  with  which 
you  might  meet  all  that  I  said  to  you  in  my  first 
lectures.  I  may  express  it  thus  :  "  There  were 
fifty  of  us  when  we  entered  the  first  class,  and  there 
are  only  thirty  of  us  left  to  pass  out.*  The  others 
found  the  course  beyond  their  powers,  and  for  the 
greater  part  of  them  the  stumbling-block  was  the 
ancient  languages."  Hence  one  can  understand 
their  animosity  against  classical  study — their  own, 
their  parents'  and  relatives',  and  yours  also 
through  the  feelings  of  comradeship. 

That  reproach  against  classical  education  I  could 
very  easily  overlook.  When  the  Commission  for 
the .  Reform  of  Secondary  Schools,  to  which  I 
alluded  before,  was  discussing  the  subject  of  the 
failures,  certain  members,  who  had  investigated 
that  question  with  care,  brought  forward  statistics 
for  both  the  principal  types  of  secondary  schools. 
The  percentage  of  failures  in  the  classical  schools 
proved  to  be  exactly  the  same  as  in  the  modern 
schools,  namely  forty  per  cent.  That  one  fact 
by  itself  shows  that  it  is  not  the  classical  languages 
which  are  responsible  for  the  failures,  but  some- 
thing else,  which  is  common  to  both  types  of 

*  The  Leaving  Certificate  of  the  Russian  schools,  now 
accepted  at  Cambridge  as  an  equivalent  for  the  Prelimi- 
nary Examination,  is  important  in  connection  with 
military  and  other  services,  entrance  to  the  universities, 
and  so  on. 


208 


Our  Debt  to  Antiquity 


secondary  schools.  What  that  something  is  I 
can  tell  you  now.  It  is  the  law  of  selection.  But 
then,  when  the  question  was  debated  by  the  Com- 
mission, opinions  set  in  another  direction.  The 
majority  of  the  members  became  a  mouthpiece 
for  popular  animosity  against  a  school  guilty  of 
producing  failures.  I  remember  well  the  outburst 
of  magnanimous  enthusiasm  with  which  a  gentle- 
man actively  interested  in  the  question  of  secon- 
dary schools  and  celebrated  for  his  humanitarian 
feelings  announced :  "  If  a  school  takes  in  a  hundred 
pupils,  it  should  also  pass  out  a  hundred  pupils." 
So,  I  said  to  myself,  entrance  guarantees  the  re- 
ceipt of  a  certificate.  Well,  and  what  guarantees 
entrance  ?  The  only  possible  answer  is,  influence 
or  bribery.  .  .  .  But  that  is  a  point  to  which  we 
shall  return  later. 

I  do  not  wish  to  pass  over  the  reproach  as  to  the 
difficulty  of  classical  school  work.  I  said  before 
that  its  difficulty  is  an  extra  recommendation.  I 
ask  you  to  fix  your  attention  on  what  I  may  call 
the  sociological  significance  of  the  school.  This  is 
its  scheme  in  brief. 

The  organisation  of  our  society  is,  of  course, 
still  very  far  from  being  complete.  One  of  the 
principal  reasons  why  it  is  so  imperfect  is  the 
fact  that  there  are  in  it  still  too  many  drones — 
that  is  to  say,  people  who  are  capable  of  work, 
but  prefer  to  live  at  the  expense  of  others.  We 
doom  that  type,  however,  to  utter  extinction  ; 
we  ask  that  every  farthing  in  the  citizen's  pocket 
should  be  a  farthing  gained  by  his  own  work. 


'\} 


\\ 


Our  Debt  to  Antiquity  209 

According  to  our  ideal  society  is  an  army  of  work. 
Now  every  army  has  its  common  soldiers  and 
officers,  its  lower  and  higher  ranks.    The  boundary 
between  the  two  is  not  specially  sharp  even  in  the 
regular  military  army,  and  in  the  army  of  work 
there  is  no  definite  line  of  demarcation  at  all. 
But  still,  even  in  this  latter  army,   distinctions 
may  be  and  should  be  made  between  the  apex 
and  the  base  of  the  social  pyramid.    Who,  then, 
are    its    officers  ?      Obviously    not    government 
officials  only,  but  every  one  who  commands  rather 
than  obeys,  who  serves  society  with  intellectual 
rather  than  physical  work,  and  that,  too,  intellec- 
tual work  of  greater  and  not  less  value,  managers 
and  foremen  of  factories,  directors  of  commercial 
enterprises,    landowners,    or    inspectors    of    field 
labour,  doctors,  artists,  and  so  on.     In  different 
periods,  one  should  note,  however,  the  composition 
of  that  ^lite  of  society  has  varied.    Under  normal 
conditions  they  enjoy  a  large  salary  in  comparison 
with  the  common  soldiers  ;    they  live  in  clean, 
bright  homes  and  not  in  kennels,  corners,  and 
night-shelters.    How,  then,  are  people  appointed 
to  be  officers  ?    That  is  the  point  which  constitutes 
the  different  character  of  the  various  periods.    The 
criterion  which   distinguished  the  candidate  for 
an  officer's  post  from  the  candidate  for  a  common 
soldier's  duties  has  always  been  a  valuation,  only 
the   character   of   the   valuation   has   varied   at 
various  times.    In  primitive  ages  it  was  doubtless 
rude  physical  strength.    In  civihsed  epochs  we  see 
first  of  all  the  principle  of  birth  ;  the  place  at  the 


2IO 


Our  Debt  to  Antiquity 


apex  of  the  social  pyramid  falls  hereditarily  from 
noble  father  to  noble  son.  Then  the  valuation  by 
birth  was  replaced  by  a  valuation  by  property, 
or  crossed  with  it.  At  the  present  time  the  valua- 
tion is  chiefly  by  education,  and  it  is  obvious  that 
this  system  will  obtain  in  the  future.  Who,  then, 
are  the  candidates  for  officers'  posts  in  the  army 
of  work  ?  You  yourselves,  gentlemen,  who  are 
finishing  your  education  in  the  secondary  schools. 
I  should  now  like  to  summon  a  vision  before 
you,  an  ominous,  imposing,  and  alas  !  exceedingly 
real  vision.  It  is  a  young  man  of  your  years,  only 
he  is  dressed  not  in  clean  clothes,  but  filthy,  evil- 
smelling  rags.  On  his  head  he  wears  not  a  smart 
cap  like  yours,  but  a  workman's  greasy  hat.  His 
face  bears  the  marks  of  the  privation  and  the 
vice  which  haunt  the  hves  of  those  "  at  the 
bottom  "  of  the  social  pyramid.*  You  introduce 
yourselves  to  each  other.  "I,"  you  say,  **  by  the 
grace  of  God,  am  a  candidate  for  an  officer's  post." 
''  And  I,"  your  vision  answers,  "  by  the  wrath  of 
God,  am  of  the  proletariate."  And  fixing  a  vicious 
glance  on  you  he  asks  :  '*  And  why  is  it,  sir,  you 
become  an  officer  and  I  not  ?  "  Two  answers  are 
possible  to  this  question,  the  first  a  very  disgrace- 
ful one,  the  second  a  very  good  one.  The  former 
is  :  "  Because  my  father  was  a  man  comparatively 
well  to  do,  who  paid  for  my  education  in  a  secon- 

*  A  reference  to  a  drama  by  Maxim  Gorki,  in  which 
the  characters  are  taken  from  the  dregs  of  the  com- 
munity. The  common  expression  for  these  outcasts  in 
Russia  nowadays  is  "  the  Gorki  type." 


Our  Debt  to  Antiquity 


211 


dary  school  seven  or  eight  years  in  succession,  and 
during  that  time  gave  me  leisure  for  my  studies, 
whereas  your  father,  supposing  you  had  a  father, 
was  a  poor  devil,  who  fed  and  brought  you  up 
on  copper  farthings  and  at  the  same  time  ex- 
ploited your  labour."  Yes,  that  answer  will,  un- 
fortunately, contain  a  large  proportion  of  truth ; 
but  I  fancy  the  conscience  in  each  one  of  you  will 
shrink  from  it.  The  second  answer,  against  which 
no  reproach  is  possible,  is  :  **  Because  I  have  gone 
through  an  amount  of  mental  work  which  would 
be  beyond  your  power.  Only  think,  fifty  of  us 
entered  the  first  class  and  only  thirty  pass  out." 

And  now  let  me  ask  you — ^which  of  these  two 
answers  is  more  in  harmony  with  the  idea  of  the 
easy  school,  the  school  that  passes  out  as  many 
pupils  as  it  received  ?  Obviously  not  the  second 
answer,  but  the  first,  an  answer  which  you  would 
not  bring  yourself  to  utter — your  tongue  would 
refuse  its  office.  Now  just  imagine  that  this  idea 
of  an  easy  school  were  realised.  The  inscription 
**  Industry  and  Ability  "  is  torn  down  once  for  all 
from  the  school  door  and  replaced  by  the  device  : 
"  We  ask  your  favour  !  A  certificate  guaranteed 
to  all."  What  will  be  the  result  ?  Yes,  we  ask 
your  favour  !  A  school  has  accommodation  for 
only  fifty,  and  the  number  of  applications  is  five 
hundred.  Or  do  you  think  there  will  not  be  so 
many  ?  Why,  even  at  present,  when  the  diffi- 
culty of  the  course  deters  many,  the  number 
of  those  who  wish  to  enter  is  twice  or  three  times 
greater  than  the  number  of  vacancies.    And  what 


212 


Our  Debt  to  Antiquity 


will  happen  when  the  ease  of  the  course  and  the 
certainty  of  a  certificate  form  additional  attrac- 
tions ?  Every  father,  as  you  may  guess,  wishes  to 
see  his  son  an  officer.  No,  indeed,  not  less  than 
five  hundred.  Well,  how  are  we  to  choose  the 
fifty  happy  individuals  out  of  that  number  ? 
One  method  is  to  raise  the  school  fee  proportion- 
ately, that  is  to  say,  establish  on  a  legal  and  lasting 
footing  just  that  system  of  valuation  by  property 
which  is  the  meanest  and  most  pernicious  of  all 
the  criteria,  and  allow  it  also  as  a  culminating 
point  of  meanness  to  screen  itself  under  the  mask 
of  the  criterion  of  education.  Another  means  is  a 
severe  entrance  examination.  That  would  involve 
the  changing  of  the  time  of  struggle  and  failure 
from  the  schoolboy's  to  the  child's  age.  Such  a 
method  flies  in  the  face  of  Nature  and  is  opposed 
to  common  sense.  An  easy  youth  following  a  hard 
and  exhausting  childhood  !  No,  of  course,  neither 
the  one  nor  the  other  are  suitable.  A  third  will 
be  applied,  and  this  one  all  the  more  because  it 
has  in  Russia  a  very  valid  historical  and  actual 
foundation.  That  means  is  protection  or  bribery.  It 
also  will  be  a  kind  of  selection,  not,  however, 
natural  selection,  tending  to  improvement,  but 
corrupt  selection,  resulting  in  degeneration.  How- 
ever, it  will  not  enjoy  a  long  triumph.  That  vision, 
which  I  summoned  before  you,  and  whose  existence 
should  not  be  forgotten,  will  not  tolerate  that 
abuse.  The  history  of  the  eighteenth  century 
in  France  is  significant.  If  a  privileged  class 
thinks  of  annulhng  or  lightening  that  amount  of 


Our  Debt  to  Antiquity 


213 


I 


i'.i 


"I 


work  which  alone  justifies  its  privileges,  then  it 
will  be  swept  away  by  a  revolution.  For  heaven's 
sake  do  not  ask  for,  do  not  introduce,  an  easy 
school !    An  easy  school  is  a  crime  against  society. 

And  that  is  why,  however  painful  it  may  be, 
I  warn  you  against  being  carried  away  by  feelings 
of  humanity  and  sympathy  with  your  comrades 
who  have  failed.  That  humanitarian  sentiment 
is  but  the  short-sighted  bourgeois  instinct  of  a 
caste.  You  are  sorry  for  your  companions  who 
entered  school  with  you  and  who,  in  consequence 
of  a  lack  of  industry  or  ability,  do  not  pass  out 
with  you.  I,  too,  am  sorry  for  them,  but  I  am 
much  more  sorry  for  those  contemporaries  of 
yours  who,  notwithstanding  their  application  to 
study  and  their  capabilities,  were  debarred  by 
external  circumstances  from  crossing  the  threshold 
of  a  secondary  school.  Their  failure  is  a  far  more 
melancholy  phenomenon  than  the  failure  of  the 
former,  since  society  itself  suffers  from  it,  whereas 
the  only  people  to  suffer  from  your  companions' 
failures  are  your  companions  themselves.  The 
failure  of  the  capable  is  a  drag  on  progress,  the 
failure  of  the  incapable  an  instrument  of  progress. 

That  is  why  the  ideal  school  organisation  will 
be  a  position  of  affairs  in  which  the  failure  of 
industrious  and  able  scholars  will  be  impossible, 
even  though  this  should  necessitate  an  increase 
in  the  percentage  of  failures  of  the  supine  and 
incapable.  That  idea  will  be  realised,  as  generally 
speaking  every  ideal  is  realised,  by  means  of  the 
two  powerful  levers  of  progress,  differentiation  and 


214 


Our  Debt  to  Antiquity 


unification.    Differentiation  demands  the  greatest 
possible  diversity  of  types  of  secondary  schools. 
We  have  classical  schools,  modern  schools,  pro- 
fessional  schools    of   various    kinds.      Excellent. 
The  more  of  these  types,  the  greater  amount  of 
chances  that  every  capable  boy  finds  the  one  to 
suit  his  abilities.    Unification  demands  the  union 
of  all  types  of  primary,  secondary,  and  most  ad- 
vanced  schools   into   one   organism,    a   kind   of 
majestic  tree.    The  roots  of  that  tree  will  be  the 
primary   town   and   country  schools.     Reaching 
deep  down  among  the  people,  they  should  seek 
out  individuals  capable  of  intellectual  work  and 
raise  them,   according  to  their  abilities,  to  the 
trunk,  the  branches,  the  top  of  the  tree.    Such  a 
school  will  be  a  really  popular  one,  that  is  to  say, 
in  the  poet's  idea,  "  one  that  breaks  in  so  many 
good  men  of  the  people  "—an  expression  which 
cannot  be  applied  as  yet  to  our  present  schools, 
and  which  can  never  be  applied  to  the  easy  school 
which  some  people  project.    An  easy  school  is  an 
institution  for  effeminate  sprigs  of  gentle  birth, 
a  monstrous  and  humiliating  revival  of  the  serf- 
dom system  on  a  capitalistic  basis. 

And  when  we  attain  to  that  ideal  which  I  })ic- 
tured,  then  the  question  of  the  failures  will  be 
solved  in  a  way  which,  if  not  fully  satisfactory  to 
us,  is  yet  the  normal  answer.  You  don't  succeed 
in  the  classical  school  ?  Well,  try  your  luck  in  the 
modern.  You  can't  stand  the  modern  ?  Go  over 
to  the  classical.  You  don't  find  the  place  suited 
for  you  in  either  the  one  or  the  other  ?     Then 


Our  Debt  to  Antiquity 


215 


choose  a  technical  school,  according  to  your  in- 
clination. In  this  search  you  may  waste  a  year  or 
two  of  your  life.  Well,  what  can  be  done  ?  Re- 
proach yourself  or  your  parents  for  not  having 
found  you  straight  off  the  school  suited  for  you  ! 
Or  perhaps  there  is  no  such  school  at  all  ?  You 
are  unfitted  for  intellectual  work  ?  Well,  take  up 
some  trade  !  Go  as  a  cabin-boy  on  board  ship,  or 
return  to  mother  earth.  If  you  can't  be  an  officer, 
be  a  private  in  the  army  of  work.  You  are  unfit 
for  physical  work  also  ?  You  are  weak,  delicate, 
disabled  ?  ...  or  perhaps  insuperably  lazy  and 
slothful  ?  Then,  poor  fellow— it  is  terrible  for  me 
to  say  what  then,  but  you  understand  yourself 
what  the  law  of  selection  answers  for  me  :  "  Then 

— die.  ..." 

Should  we,  can  we  acquiesce  in  that  law  ? 

Gentlemen,  we  have  touched  here  on  a  very  im- 
portant question.  But  we  have  very  little  time  left, 
and  we  must  still  consider  the  third  charge  against 
classical  education,  namely  that  it  is  retrograde. 
Perhaps,  however,  you  will  release  me  from  the 
necessity  of  entering  minutely  upon  that  point  and 
proving  to  you  that  the  study  of  Antiquity,  the 
source  of  all  the  ideas  of  freedom  on  which  our  civili- 
sation lives,  cannot  in  any  way  be  called  retrograde. 
I  think,  indeed,  that  this  fact  has  been  already 
sufficiently  brought  out  in  my  former  lectures. 
Did  they  imply  many  retrograde  elements  ?  But, 
you  ask,  how  could  such  an  opinion  originate  ? 
First  of  all,  I  imagine,  some  government  official, 
who  did  not  see  the  world  from  behind  his  green 


2l6 


Our  Debt  to  Antiquity 


table,  might  conceive  the  bright  idea  that  perfects 
and  supines  could  be  used  as  a  counterpoise  to  the 
revolutionary  inchnations  of  society.    This  recalls 
the  Middle  Ages,  when  the  right  of  science  to  exist 
depended   on   its   influence   upon   morality   and 
rehgion,  and  it  was  set  down  to  the  credit  of 
arithmetic  that  it  distracted  men's  minds  from 
sinful  thoughts.    This  project  frightened  an  army 
of  of&cious  journalists  for  the  hberalism  of  their 
future  readers,  and  they  proceeded  to  lay  the 
blame  for  the  idea  on  classical  learning  itself, 
which  was  perfectly  innocent.     Which  of  these 
parties  was  the  wiser,  I  do  not  know.    But  Cicero 
was  perhaps  right  when  he  said  in  a  similar  case  : 
"  If,  as  a  well-known  proverb  asserts,  the  wisest 
man  is  he  who  can  devise  what  is  necessary,  and 
the  second  wisest  man  he  who  follows  the' wise 
counsels  of  his  neighbour,  then  it  is  quite  the 
reverse  in  regard  to  the  opposite  quahty ;    the 
man  who  cannot  devise  a  sensible  plan  is  less 
fooHsh  than  he  who  approves  of  another's  foolish 
plan."  And  that  it  is  precisely  this  opposite  quahty 
with  which  we  are  now  concerned  is  easily  seen 
from  the  fact  that  this  charge  of  a  retrograde 
tendency  is  brought  against  classical  education 
m  Russia  only.    Had  perfects  and  supines  really 
possessed  that  miraculous  force  for  conservatism, 
which  the  wooden  psychology  of  these  gentlemen 
has  in  view,  then,  I  fancy,  the  sharp-witted  West 
would  scarce  have  left  them  the  honour  of  the 
discovery. 

And  now  aUow  me  to  put  all  that  nonsense 


Ouf  Debt  to  Antiquity 


217 


aside  and  return  to  the  interesting  and  important 
question  on  which  I  touched  a  moment  ago. 

We  were  speaking  of  the  sociological  significa- 
tion of  the  secondary  school  in  general  and  the 
classical  school  in  particular.     That  signification 
consists,  as  we  saw,  in  the  selection  of  "  candidates 
for  the  posts  of  ofi&cers  in  the  army  of  work  "  ;  that 
is  to  say,  the  selection  of  individuals  capable  of 
intellectual  work  from  the  number  of  all  those 
summoned  or  willing  to  serve.    For  that  purpose 
a  school  ought  to  be  more  or  less  difficult.    An  easy 
school  presupposes  easy  work— and  that  invention 
must  be  left  to  the  inventor  of  cold  fire  and  hot 
snow.    Work,  as  far  as  it  is  work,  must  always  be 
f  t       difficult.*    I  have  been  attacked  for  this  sociolo- 
gical role  which  my  opponents  charge  me  of  foisting 
upon  schools.    So,  according  to  you,  they  ask,  a 
school  ought  to  be  a  kind  of  sieve  ?    Now  I  have 
nothing    against    people    inclined   to  idle    jokes 
picturing  my  school  under  the  symbol  of  a  sieve. 
I  would  only  ask  them  to  raise  that  conception  of 
a  sieve  to  the  level  of  the  usual  symbols  used  for 
representing  Life  and  Nature.     Wherever  only  life 
is,  a  struggle  for  it  goes  on,  in  the  course  of  which 
the  fit  survive  and  the  unfit  die  out.    If  a  school 
wishes  to  preserve  its  hfe,  it  must  not  seek  to  evade 
the  law  that  governs  hfe  in  general.    But  I  protest 
against  the  idea  that  I  am  foisting  this  role  on  a 
school  as  one  which  it  should  perform  consciously 
and   directly.     No,    gentlemen !     That    idea   is 
founded  on  a  misconception  of  that  heterogeneity 

*  There  is  a  play  of  words  in  the  Russian. 


2l8 


Our  Debt  to  Antiquity 


of  purposes,  which  I  mentioned  in  my  first  lecture. 
This  principle  is  manifested  everywhere,  where 
the  law  of  selection  is  at  work,  and  consists,  as 
you  remember,  in  the  non- correspondence  of  the 
conscious  and  immediate  purpose  with  the  un- 
conscious and  indirect  purpose.  Consciously  and 
immediately  the  school  should  aim  at  but  one 
object,  the  education  of  its  pupils.  It  need  not 
even  dream  of  any  other.  But  just  by  this  process 
of  bringing  its  pupils  to  a  certain  level  of  education, 
and  also  presumably  letting  those  go  for  whom 
that  level  is  unattainable— j^st  by  this  process  it 
serves  also  unconsciously  the  purpose  of  selection. 
And  woe  to  it  if  it  should  become  conscious  of  that 
involuntary  indirect  mission  which  it  serves  and 
dream  of  evading  that  duty  and  altering  its  direct 
educative  purpose  accordingly  !  Such  a  school 
would  be  swept  off  the  scene  once  for  all  by 
another  school  viewing  its  duties  more  seriously. 
Yes,  we  have  before  us  a  sharp  but  inevitable 
choice  of  alternatives.  A  school  must  be  either 
an  instrument  of  progress  or  its  victim. 

But  what,  then,  are  we  to  do  with  our  "  fail- 
ure "  ?  We  have  tried  to  settle  him  in  schools 
of  various  kinds  and  put  him  at  last  to  physical 
work.  Everywhere  he  has  proved  incapable. 
Well,  are  we  to  subscribe  to  the  stern  command 
of  the  law  of  selection — the  command  "  Die !  "  ? 

No  !  That  law  needs  to  be  supplemented.  Of 
course,  a  struggle  for  existence  rules  over  all  the 
sphere  of  hfe ;  so  too  its  consequence,  namely,  the 
survival  of  the  fit,  or  natural  selection.    In  man- 


Our  Debt  to  Antiquity 


219 


, 


kind  alone  that  law  crosses  with  another  important 
and   powerful   principle — the   principle   of   love. 
This  principle  is  not,  of  course,  an  exception — 
exceptions  are  inadmissible  in  the  law  of  selection 
— but   its  highest  possible  development.     Love 
came  down  on  the  earth  not  to  break  that  law 
but  to  complete  it.     The  law  of  selection  leads 
mankind  to  improvement.     But  improvement  is 
not  only  physical  and  intellectual,  it  is  moral  as 
well.     When   a   rod   vibrating   with   continuous 
acceleration  of  movement  attains  a  certain  degree 
of  rapidity,  a  new  force  is  originated,  and  the  rod 
begins  to  shine.     It  is  the  same  with  humanity 
when  it  reaches  a  certain  degree  of  progress  in 
civilisation.     Something  new  and  marvellous  is 
kindled  in  it,  namely,  the  moral  law,  which  bids  a 
man  love  his  neighbour,  and  instead  of  pushing 
over  a  falling  fellow-creature,  so  as  to  have  more 
room  for  himself,  stretch  out  a  helping  hand  and 
share  his  own  possessions  with  him.     Primitive 
society  may  kill  off  its  old  men  who  are  unfit  for 
physical  work  and  an  extra  burden ;  it  obeys  but 
one  law — the  law  of  the  struggle  for  existence. 
We,  however,  members  of  civilised  society,  share 
with  our  old  men  the  bread  won  by  our  toil  be- 
cause we  love  them.    Now  suppose  some  one  says 
to  us :    '*  Why  do  you  do  that  ?     Whatever  is 
falling  should  be  pushed  over  in  view  of  still 
greater  physical  and  intellectual  progress.    Acting 
otherwise  you  condemn  yourselves  to  degenera- 
tion."  What  is  our  answer  ?    "  No,"  we  say  ;  "  we 
do  not  wish  a  physical  and  mental  progress  which 


220 


Our  Debt  to  Antiquity 


is  purchased  at  the  price  of  moral  deterioration." 
The  same  principle  marks  our  treatment  of  our 
failures.  We  do  not  annihilate  them,  we  care  for 
them.  We  build  hospitals  for  the  failures  of 
physical  life — the  sick,  asylums  for  the  failures 
of  intellectual  life — idiots  and  lunatics,  prisons  for 
the  failures  of  moral  life — criminals.  We  try  to 
make  their  lives  there  endurable.  So  within  the 
principal  part  of  our  society,  which  lives  on  the 
work  system,  there  is  vegetating  a  more  or  less 
considerable  amount  of  people  who  do  not  share 
in  the  common  work,  people  whose  existence  is 
justified  and  made  normal  by  what  I  may  call 
the  "  charity  "  system.  These  form  the  camp- 
followers  of  the  army  of  work.  We  share  our  gains 
with  them,  but  nothing  more.  We  cannot  permit 
the  life  juices  of  the  healthy  organisms  capable  of 
work  to  pass  to  the  failures.  That  would  indeed 
lead  to  the  degeneration  with  which  some  people 
threaten  us.  We  ought  to  tack  more  or  less 
skilfully  between  two  degenerations — on  the  one 
hand,  moral  degeneration,  due  to  excessive  in- 
sistence on  the  law  of  the  struggle  for  existence  and 
neglect  of  the  law  of  love ;  and  on  the  other  hand, 
physical  and  intellectual  degeneration,  due  to 
excessive  enthusiasm  for  this  latter  law. 

We  have  now  our  answer  ready.  We  do  not 
subscribe  to  that  stern  condemnation  "  Die  !  " 
which  the  law  of  selection  pronounced  on  our 
failure.  We  say  to  him  :  "Off  with  you  to  the 
camp-followers.  There  you  will  receive  means 
for  a  more  or  less  tolerable  vegetation — but,  of 


Our  Debt  to  Antiquity 


221 


course,  nothing  more."  There  is  not  much  com- 
fort in  this  picture.  But  what  can  be  done  ?  For 
all  our  wishes  we  cannot  do  away  with  the  dark 
aspects  of  our  life.  And  it  will  be  a  good  thing  if 
we  succeed  in  the  more  or  less  near  future  in 
realising  that  ideal  of  which  I  speak  here,  the 
ideal  of  school  organisation,  with  the  implied  full 
application  of  the  principles  of  differentiation  and 
unification,  with  the  securing  for  all  capable  and 
industrious  persons  a  place  corresponding  to  their 
merits  in  the  army  of  work.  That  will  be  an  enor- 
mous progress  in  comparison  with  what  has  been 
and  what  is. 

Progress.  Yes,  that  word  is  the  real  final  note 
in  that  symphony  of  thoughts  and  feelings  which 
I  wished  to  awaken  in  you.  Progress  is  the  watch- 
word of  that  civilisation  which  is  rooted  in  An- 
tiquity. Towards  it  conduces  all  the  play  of  those 
ideas  which  Antiquity  has  bequeathed  to  us,  or 
in  whose  direction  it  has  urged  us  during  these 
fifteen  hundred  years  of  united  hfe  with  it.  Pro- 
gress, too,  is  the  object  of  the  school  which  has 
classical  education  as  its  central  point,  not  merely 
directly  as  a  nursery  of  progressive  ideas,  but  also 
indirectly  as  a  means  of  sociological  selection. 
For  a  long,  a  very  long  time,  the  West  alone  was 
the  bearer  of  progressive  ideas,  the  West  which 
alone  took  over  Antiquity  to  be  the  moving  force 
of  its  civilisation.  That  was  not  what  we  had 
and  have  in  the  East— there  we  have  a  strange 
life,  also  civilised,  but  founded  on  the  supposition 
that  to-morrow  must  be  exactly  hke  to-day  and 


222 


Our  Debt  to  Antiquity 


Our  Debt  to  Antiquity 


223 


yesterday.  In  comparison  with  the  eternally 
thinking,  eternally  restless  thought  of  the  West, 
this  majestic  rest  of  the  East  is  deeply  impressive, 
this  unconscious  assurance  that  everything  attain- 
able has  been  attained,  that  to  strive  further  is 
idle,  foolish,  sinful.  Russia  has  been  placed  by 
history  on  the  very  border  between  East  and  West. 
Here  both  ideals  conflict.  Russia  is  the  only  one 
of  the  countries  of  European  civilisation  where 
the  law  of  progress  and  its  necessity  have  been 
disputed,  the  law  of  selection  and  its  purpose 
disputed,  the  value  of  science  and  art  disputed, 
the  only  country  where  the  nervous  question  : 
"  But  that  surely  leads  to  degeneration  and 
death  ?  "  has  been  followed  by  the  quietly  majestic 
answer:  "Well,  we  must  just  degenerate  and 
die  !  "  Against  that  point  of  view  I  am  powerless. 
All  my  arguments  in  favour  of  classical  education 
were  founded  on  a  faith  in  progress,  in  its  possi- 
bility and  necessity.  If  you  decide  to  deny 
progress,  then  all  that  I  have  said  is  overthrown. 
Well,  are  we  to  begin  a  fresh  discussion  on  this 
new,  all-embracing  theme  ?  No,  we  must  stop 
some  time  or  other.  Every  thought,  when  followed 
out  to  its  conclusion,  raises  a  whole  chain  of  new 
thoughts.  If  this  happen  here  also  with  you,  it 
will  be  only  good  for  you.  I  have  invited  you  to 
see  in  Antiquity  not  a  model  but  a  seed.  Clearly, 
then,  I  cannot  ask  more  for  my  own  lectures  about 
Antiquity.  Let  them  also  be  a  seed  of  thought  for 
you.  I  hope  that  if  not  now,  then,  at  any  rate, 
some  time  or  other,  this  seed  will  sprout  in  you 


and  give  forth  fruit.  Perhaps  then  you  will  have 
forgotten  the  subject  of  these  talks  of  ours  and 
will  rejoice  at  the  crop  which  has  sprung  up  in 
you  under  the  belief  that  it  is  actually  your  own — 
and  you  will  be  right.  Whatever  a  man  has  worked 
up  in  himself  or  worked  out  of  himself  is  his  own. 
It  cannot  be  taken  from  him,  and  there  is  nothing 
else  which  a  man  can  call  his  own  mental  property. 
But  still,  I  should  not  like  to  close  on  a  question 
mark.  As  you,  however,  are  exhausted  and  I  am 
exhausted  myself,  I  shall  follow  the  example  of 
my  favourite  author,  Plato,  and  conclude  my 
discourse  on  the  theme,  upon  which  I  have  just 
touched,  with  an  allegory.  So  here  you  have  my 
parable  about  progress — as  a  kind  of  parting  salu- 
tation and  souvenir  of  what  I  trust  were  pleasant 
hours. 

When  the  angels  had  fallen  and  their  evil  and 
insolent  devices  brought  on  them  a  merited  punish- 
ment, two  of  the  fallen.  Orient ius  and  Occident ius, 
were  deemed  worthy  of  pardon  as  being  less  guilty. 
They  were  not  cast  away  for  ever.  They  were 
permitted  to  redeem  their  sin  by  a  laborious  task, 
that  with  its  completion  they  might  return  to  the 
cloisters  of  heaven.  The  task  consisted  of  this — 
to  go  on  foot,  with  a  staff  in  the  hand,  a  journey  of 
many  million  miles.  When  this  sentence  was  pro- 
nounced on  them,  the  elder  of  the  twain,  Orientius, 
besought  the  Creator  and  said  :  "  O  Lord,  show 
me  yet  one  mercy  !  Grant  that  my  path  should 
be  straight  and  even,  that  there  be  no  hills  and 
dales  to  delay  me,  that  I  see  before  me  the  final 


224 


Our  Debt  to  Antiquity 


goal  towards  which  I  journey  !  '*  And  the  Creator 
said  to  him:  "  Your  prayer  shall  be  fulfilled."  And 
he  turned  to  the  other  and  asked  :  "  And  you, 
Occidentius,  do  you  desire  nothing  ?  "  And  he 
answered  :  "  Nothing."  With  that  they  were  let 
go.  Then  a  mist  of  oblivion  enwrapped  them,  and 
when  they  came  to  themselves,  they  awoke  each 
one  on  that  place  which  was  the  destined  starting- 
point  of  their  journey. 

Orientius  stood  up  and  looked  round  him.  A 
staff  lay  close  by.  All  around  stretched  out,  like 
a  sea  asleep,  an  immeasurable  fiat  unbroken  plain, 
over  it  the  blue  sky,  boundless  and  cloudless  every- 
where ;  only  in  one  place  far  away  at  the  very 
edge  of  the  horizon  shone  a  white  light.  He  under- 
stood that  there  was  the  place  whither  he  should 
direct  his  steps.  He  grasped  his  staff  and  went 
forward.  He  journeyed  on  for  a  day  or  two  and 
then  gazed  all  round  him  again,  and  it  seemed  to 
him  that  the  distance  which  separated  him  from 
his  goal  had  not  decreased  by  a  single  step,  that 
he  was  still  ever  standing  in  the  same  place  and 
still  ever  surrounded  by  the  same  immeasurable 
plain  as  before.  "  No,"  he  said  in  despair,  "  eternity 
is  too  short  to  cross  a  space  like  this."  And  with 
these  words  he  flung  away  his  staff,  sank  down 
hopelessly  on  the  ground,  and  fell  asleep.  He  slept 
for  a  long  time,  right  up  to  our  own  age. 

At  the  same  time  as  his  elder  brother,  Occidentius 
also  awoke.  He  rose  up  and  looked  round  him. 
Behind  him  was  the  sea,  in  front  a  hollow,  beyond 
the  hollow  a  wood,  beyond  the  wood  a  hill,  and  a 


\i 


Our  Debt  to  Antiquity  225 

white  light  seemed  to  be  burning  on  the  hill.    "  Is 
that  all !  "  he  exclaimed  gaily.    "  I  shaU  be  there 
by  evening."    He  grasped  a  staff  that  lay  by  his 
feet  and  set  out  on  his  journey.    And  indeed  before 
evening  he  had  reached  the  top  of  the  hill,  but 
there  he  saw  that  he  had  been  mistaken.    Only 
from  the  distance  it  had  appeared  that  the  light 
was  burning  on  the  hill ;  in  reality  there  was  no- 
thing on  it  save  some  apple  trees,  with  whose  fruits 
he  allayed  his  hunger  and  thirst.    On  the  other 
side  was  a  descent,  and  below  ran  a  river.    Over 
the  river  a  hill  rose,  and  on  the  hill  shone  ever 
the  same  white  light.     "  WeU,  what  ? "  said  Occi- 
dentius.   "  I  shall  rest,  and  after  that  to  the  road  ! 
In  two  days  I  shall  be  there,  and  then  straight  into 
heaven  !  "    Again  his  calculation  proved  right,  but 
again  it  was  not  heaven  that  he  found.     Behind 
the  hill  was  a  new,  broad  valley,  beyond  the  valley 
rose  a  higher  hill,  whose  top  was  crowned  by  the 
rays  of  the  white  light.    Of  course,  our  pilgrim  felt 
a  certain  vexation,  but  not  for  long.     The  hill 
beckoned  him  irresistibly  forward ;   there  at  last 
for  sure  were  the  gates  of  heaven  !    And  so  ever 
on  and  on,  day  after  day,  week  after  week,  month 
after  month,  year  after  year,  age  after  age.    Hope 
is  succeeded  by  disillusion,  from  disillusion  rises  a 
fresh  hope.    He  is  moving  forward  at  this  very 
moment.     Ravines,  rivers,  crags,  impassable  bogs 
delay  his  progress.    Many  times  he  has  wandered 
off  the  path  and  lost  the  guiding  light ;    he  has 
made  circuitous  marches  and  turned  back  till  he 
has  succeeded  in  marking  again  the  reflection  of  the 


226 


Our  Debt  to  Antiquity 


longed-for  brightness.  And  now  boldly,  with  his 
trusty  staff  in  his  hand,  he  is  climbing  up  a  high 
hill,  the  name  of  which  is  "  The  Social  Problem." 
The  hill  is  steep  and  craggy.  He  must  struggle 
through  many  ravines  and  thickets  and  scale 
abrupt  walls  and  precipices,  but  he  does  not 
despair.  Before  him  he  sees  the  gleam  of  the  light, 
and  he  is  firmly  assured  that  he  has  but  to  win 
the  sunmiit,  and  the  gates  of  heaven  will  open 
before  him. 


THE   END 


APPENDIX 


Russian  Writers  and  Painters 

DosTOYEVSKi. — Born  in  Moscow  in  October, 
182 1.  When  twenty-four  years  of  age  he  wrote 
his  "  Poor  People,"  and  sprang  immediately  into 
fame.  In  1849  ^^  ^^^  condemned  to  death  on 
political  grounds,  and  with  his  companions  was 
already  on  the  scaffold  when  a  messenger  came 
from  Nicolas  I  with  a  reprieve.  Transported  to 
Siberia,  he  was  detained  for  four  years  in  prison 
in  Omsk,  and  then  made  a  soldier.  He  was  par- 
doned in  1859  ^^t^r  t^^  accession  of  Alexander  H. 
He  died  in  January,  188 1.  His  works  are  written 
hurriedly  and  carelessly,  but  show  remarkable 
genius,  an  intimate  knowledge  of  psychology,  and 
profound  philosophical  thought.  He  is,  perhaps, 
the  greatest  of  all  Russian  writers.  His  best- 
known  novel  in  Western  Europe  is  "  Crime  and 
Punishment."  "  The  Brothers  Karamazoff,"  his 
greatest  work,  and  the  novel  generally  called 
"  Devils  " — a  more  proper  title  would  be  "  Un- 
clean Spirits  " — along  with  a  large  amount  of 
minor  work,  have  not  yet  been  translated  into 
English. 

227 


228 


Our  Debt  to  Antiquity 


LiESKOFF. — The  "Kolivanski  mujz"  was  pub- 
lished about  forty  years  ago.  In  some  respects 
Lieskoff  is  the  precursor  of  Tchekhoff  and  Gorki. 
He  wrote  chiefly  short  stories.  His  best-known 
work  is  probably  the  masterly  sketch  "Nowhither." 

Nekrasoff  (1821-1877). — The  son  of  an  army 
officer.  As  a  student  he  spent  a  wretched  life, 
but  by  sheer  energy  eventually  became  owner  of 
*'  The  Contemporary."  The  subject  of  his  poetry 
is  the  life  of  the  Russian  masses  in  town  and  coun- 
try. It  is  marked  by  sincerity  and  a  real  sympathy 
with  the  lower  classes.  The  style  lacks  ease  and 
spontaneity,  and  an  exaggerated  political  bias 
constantly  obtrudes  itself.  He  is  a  poet  with  a 
purpose  ;  he  himself  called  his  muse  "  the  muse 
of  vengeance  and  misery."  Exalted  at  his  death 
by  socialistic  Russia  over  Pushkin  and  Lermontoff , 
he  is  now  beginning  to  be  forgotten.  To  unpreju- 
diced readers  he  seems  a  much  smaller  figure. 

Petroff. — Father  Petroff  is  a  prominent  figure 
in  modern  Russia.  He  was  Professor  of  Theology 
in  the  Poly  technical  Institute,  a  great  college  in 
Petersburg.  His  work  among  the  poor  and  his 
preaching,  flavoured  with  rationalism  and  radi- 
calism— he  interpreted  the  Lord's  Prayer  in  a 
revolutionary  sense — gave  him  wide  influence 
among  the  capital  populace,  who  returned  him  as 
member  for  the  second  Duma,  but  led  him  into 
difficulties  with  his  ecclesiastical  superiors.  He 
was  first  confined  for  a  term  to  a  monastery,  and 


Appendix 


229 


later  defrocked.  On  this  occasion  he  sent  an 
interesting  document  to  the  Metropolitan  indica- 
tive of  his  beliefs,  which  appears  in  the  (English) 
"  Contemporary,"  March,  1908.  He  now  lives  in 
retirement  in  Finland. 


PoGODiN  (1800-1875). — An  historian  and  archae- 
ologist, born  at  Moscow  and  eventually  professor 
in  Moscow  University.  Besides  historical  studies 
and  translations,  he  published  works  on  Russian 
and  Slavonic  Antiquities  ;  for  this  purpose  he  had 
travelled  all  over  European  Asia,  the  southern 
Slav  countries,  and  Siberia.  In  Western  Europe 
he  is  perhaps  best  known  by  his  "  Studies  in  the 
Chronicle  of  Nestor,"  translated  into  German  by 
F.  Loewe,  Petersburg,  1844. 

Pushkin. — Born  in  Moscow  in  1802,  and  killed 
in  a  duel,  like  Lermontoff,  in  1857.  ^"^  ^^  ^^® 
greatest  poets  of  modern  times.  His  chief  works 
are  the  novels,  "  The  Captain's  Daughter  "  and 
"  The  Queen  of  Spades  "  ;  and  in  poetry,  besides 
several  volumes  of  short  pieces,  "  Boris  Godunoff," 
"  Ruslan  and  Ludmilla,"  "  Don  Juan,"  and,  above 
all,  "  Evgeniy  Oniegin,"  from  which  are  derived 
several  quotations  in  the  present  work, 

Repin,  an  historical  painter,  born  in  1844,  is  still 
alive.  His  pictures  of  Tolstoy  are  well  known  in 
this  country.  Other  examples  of  his  art,  well  re- 
presented in  the  Tretyakoff  Gallery,  Moscow,  are 
*'  Ivan  the  Terrible,"  "The  Cossacks  Beyond  the 


230 


Our  Debt  to  Antiquity 


Dneppr  Rapids,"  "A  Village  Procession,"  "Sow- 
ing on  the  Volga." 

SoLOViOFF,  Vladimir  (1853-1900).— The  son  of 
a  famous  historian,  a  professor  in  Moscow  Univer- 
sity. He  had  a  brilliant  career  as  a  student  and 
lecturer  in  Moscow  and  Petersburg  Universities. 
Soon  after  the  murder  of  Alexander  II,  in  188 1,  he 
used  some  imprudent  expressions  in  a  public  lec- 
ture, and  he  retired  into  literary  work.  He  is  a 
subtle  and  profound  thinker  deserving  of  study  in 
this  country.  His  chief  works  are  "  Philosophic 
Principles  of  Knowledge,"  "Criticism  of  Abstract 
Principles,"  "Lectures  on  the  God-Man."  The 
Tolstoyan  position  is  combated  (p.  123)  in  "  Three 
Conversations,"  admirably  written  dialogues  in 
Plato's  manner,  which  one  may  venture  to  hope 
will  be  translated  soon  into  English. 

Tolstoy,  Count  Aleksai  Konstantinovitch 
(1817-1875). — Author  of  an  historical  novel, 
"  Prince  Serebryanyi,"  and  three  tragedies,  "The 
Death  of  Ivan  the  Terrible,"  "The  Tsar  Feodor 
Ivanovitch,"  and  "Boris  Godunoff."  He  wrote 
also  some  excellent  satiric  and  epigrammatic  verse 
and  a  few  poems,  which  have  caught  with  great 
success  the  spirit  of  the  ancient  folk  poetry. 

Tolstoy,  Count  Lyoff  NicoLAiEViTCH.—Born 
at  Yasnaya  Poly  ana  ("  Bright  Meadow  "),  in  the 
Government  of  Tula,  in  1828.  Karateyeff  is  the 
religious  peasant  in  "  War  and  Peace,"  and  Akim 
a  character  in  "  The  Power  of  Darkness." 


Appendix 


231 


Vasnietsoff,  a  painter,  born  in  1848  and  still 
aUve.  His  most  famous  secular  picture  is  a  fine 
study  of  Scythian  horsemen  crossmg  a  virgm 
steppe ;  but  he  is  best  known  for  his  religious 
work,  as,  for  example,  his  ornamentation  of  the 
dome  in  the  Church  of  St.  Vladimir,  Kieff. 

Vyazemski,  Prince  (1793-1878)--^  UiiiraUuY^ 
and  frequent  contributor  to  "  The  Contemporary 
the  great  review  founded  by  Pushkin.  His  works 
fill  twelve  large  volumes,  and  preserve  the  pseudo- 
classical,  sentimental  attitude  which  vanished 
generally  before  Pushkin's  romanticism.  He 
fought  against  the  French  in  1812.  He  was 
Associate-Minister  of  Education,  and  became  a 
state  councillor  in  1855. 


INDEX 


s^ 


Achilles,  86,   114,   126,   127, 

/Eschylus,  98,  151 

iCfchylus    *•  Agamemnon," 
61,  125 

^Esthetics,  78,  106,  125,  146 

Agamemnon,  102 

Akim,  167,  168 

Alexandrine  period,  131 

Algebra,  18,  27 

Alhambra,  175 

Andromache,  108 

Anthropology,  20,  21,  99,  102 

Antigone,  114,  126,  127 

Apollonic  Religion  {see  Del- 
phi), 162 

Apperception  as  an  educa- 
tional method,  33  f. 

Arabomania,  185 

Arabs,  17,  132 

Arch,  the  Roman,  170  f. 

Architecture,  Arabian,  175 

—  Byzantine,  174 

—  Doric,  174 

—  Gothic,  172 

—  Greek  and  Roman,  171  f. 

—  Modem,  118,  171  f. 

—  Romanesque,  172 
Architrave,  173 
Arcturus,  100,  loi 
Aristides,  114 
Aristotle,  20,  78,  191 
Armida,  127 


Art,  121,  128,  176  f. 
Artes,  20 

Artist's   relations   to  prede- 
cessor, 177  f. 
Aspects  in  the  Russian  verb, 

Association    as    an    educa- 
tional method,  23  ^• 
Astronomy,  21,  loi 
Attestat  Zrailosti,  207,  21 1  f. 

Bacchylides,  191 
Balzac  the  elder,  40 
Beethoven,  85 

Bibliothecae  Scriptorum,  202 
Boccaccio,  40 
Boedromion,  10 1 
Brokhaus  and  Ephron's  En- 
cyclopaedia, 187 
Bucher,  46 
Buddha,  141 

Buddhist  civilisation,  152 
Byzantine  architecture,  1 16 

Caesar,  86 

Calendars  in  ancient  Greece, 

lOI 

Calvin,  163 

Catherine  II,  19 

Chemistry,  10,  18,  22,  36,66 

Chiron,  151 

Christianity,  118,  120,  123  f., 

I       I54»  195 


233 


234 


Our  Debt  to  Antiquity 


Christian  thinkers,  early,  150 
Christian  morality,  150,  154, 

Cicero,  21,  82,  108,  216 

Circe,  127 

Classicism,  98,  147,  169 

Classical  gymnasia,  i,  13, 
29,  186,  206  f. 

Clytemnestra,  loi 

Colchis,  126 

Column  in  Greek  architec- 
ture, the,  170 

Corpora  Inscriptionum,  191 

Crusaders,  127 

Declensions  in  Latin,  43  f. 
Decoration  in  architecture, 

the  principle  of,  173 
Delphi,  162  f. 
Demeter,  5 
Democritus,  149 
Demosthenes,  82,  108,  191 
Dialectic,  141  f. 
Dialogues,  Plato's,  145 
Dionysus,  156 
Dodona,  126,  128 
Dostoyevski,    98,    121,    167, 

App. 

Eckermann,  no 
Editions  of  classical  authors, 
200  f. 

Egrypt,  19J 

Egyptology,  204 

*'  Electra,"  Euripides',  loi 

Enlightenment,  age  of,   19, 

21,  157,  164 
Epicurus,  149 
Epos,  129,  130 
Ethics,  Christian,  150  f. 

—  Pre-Socratic,  151 

—  Socratlc,  153  f. 

—  Stoic,  64,  149,  154 
Etymology,  32,  41  f. 
Eurydice,  126 


Evolution,  the  law  of,  20 
Examinations     in     Russia, 

201  f. 
Excavation,  121,  191 
Exceptions,  the  question  of, 

45  f. 

Fabricius,  1 14 

*•  Farewell  "  :  expression  of 
this  idea  in  various  lan- 
guages, 57 

Failures,    the    question    of. 

Fatalism,  222 

Fate  in  ancient  literature,  97 
Faust,  127,  132 
Fisherman,  the  '*  ideal,"  180 
Fouill^e,  67 
Frederic  the  Great,  19 
Freedom  of  ancient  art,  178 
French   language,    the,   40, 
4',  42.  45»  56,  59»  77.  8i» 

French  Revolution,  164,  212 
French  "  Revue  historique," 

Geneva,  163 

German  saga,  132 

German  language,  the,  40, 

45.  46,  59,  75.  77 
Glinka,  126 

Goethe,  19,  no,  147,  185 

Gorki,  210 

Gothic  architecture,  172  f. 

Greek  accidence,  48  f.  ; 
architecture,  170  f.  ;  art, 
176  f  ;  colonies,  in  Italy, 
163;  in  South  Russia,  191  ; 
historical  writing,  133 : 
language,  the,  19,  :^2,  35, 
59*-.  76,  115.  i2:i\\  ;  litera. 
ture,  97,  100  f.,  106,  129  f.  ; 
morality,  150  f.  ;  mytho- 
logy, 125  f.,  128,  193,  194; 


Index 


235 


philosophical  writing,  140; 
philosophy,  148;  politics, 
162 ;  Reading  Book,  Wila- 
mowitz*,  21  ;  religion,  123; 
spirit,  57 ;  syntax,  67 ; 
theologians,  120 
Grote,  \M 

Haeckel,  162 

Hamlet,  127 

Hammurabi,  code  of,  159 

Hebrew,  35;  Hebrew  his- 
torians, 133  ;  morality, 
150;  thinkers,  124,  140 

Hector,  108,  126 

Helen,  127 

Helvetius,  9 

Herbart,  31 

Hermitage,  St.  Petersburg, 

178  f. 
Herodas,  191 
Herodotus,  82,  108,  134 
Hilary  of  Poictiers,  132 
Historical  perspectives,  65 
History,  classical  authors  as 

first-hand  authorities  for, 

III 

Homer,  21,  82,  86,  98,  104, 
105,  108,  126,  162 

Horace,  21,  90 

Hostility  against  the  clas- 
sics, causes  for  the,  i  f., 

197  f. 
'  Hottentot"  morality,  i36f. 

Hufcland,  9 

Humanistic  movements,  the, 

18,  19,  21 
Humboldt,  49,  57 
Hyperides,  191 

Idealism  in  art,  180  f. 

•♦  Idiot,"  Dostoyevski's,  167 

Idyll,  131 
Ihering,  ni,  194 
Individualism,  165 


Interest   in   any  study,  the 

question  of,  188 
Ionic  scrolls,  173 
Iphigeneia,  114 

Jager,  Oscar,  92 
Japanomania,  185 
Jungfrau  von  Orlt^ans,  132 

Karatayeff,  167,  168 
Knowledge,  value  of,  188 

La  Mettrie,  Julien  de,  9 
Language  a  natural  pheno- 
menon, 49 
Lassalle,  99,  165 

Latin  accidence,  38,  43  f., 
49;  language,  18,  32,  35, 
37  f-.  56,  69,  73  f-.  83.  115; 
literature,  90  f.,  131  5 
satire,  131  ;  syntax,  69,  71 

Law  of  love,  219 

Law  of  natural  selection,  5, 
166,  209  f. 

Law,  Roman,  159  f. 

Lenau,  Nicolas,  168,  169 

Leonidas,  1 14 

Lessing,  40 

LieskoflT,  124,  App. 

Literature,  types  of,  128 

Livy,  108,  III 

Locke,  156 

Logos,  141,  143.  198 

Lyric  poetry,  1 29  f. 

Mably,  119 

Mahommedan      civilisation, 

17,  152 
Mathematics,  18,  27,  29,  93, 

»95 
Medea,  126,  127,  128 

Menander,  191 
Metopes,  174 

Middle    Ages,    17,    18,    126, 
216 


236 


Our  Debt  to  Antiquity 


Modem  architecture,  ii8, 
171  f . ;  ethics,  154  f.  ;  lan- 
guages, 2:i  f-.  56,  66,  73, 
94;  literature,  98,  105, 
106,  118,  136  f.,  146,  148  ; 
painting,  118  ;  science,  18, 
118 

Moli^re,  no 

Mommsen,  in 

Montesquieu,  146,  148 

Moods  in  Greek,  39 

Mythology,  Greek,  125  f., 
128,  193,  194 

Natural  sciences,  5,  18,  55, 

88,  99,  116,  118,  122 
Naturalness  in  art,  78,  170, 

178 
Negro  slavery,  4,  108,  109 
Nekrassoff,  68,  App. 
Newton,  19 

Nietzsche,  7,  72,  152,  157 
Nijni  Novgorod  French,  81 
Nineteenth  century,  the  sae- 

culum  historicum,  65 
Niobe,  126 
Non-resistance  to  evil,  Tol- 

stoyan  doctrine  of,  123 
Notker  Labeo,  60 

' '  Occidentals  "  in  Russia,  1 2 1 
Odyssey  (x.  510),  103 
(Edipus,  1 14,  127 
"CEdlpus  Rex,"  Sophocles', 

100 
Old     Testament     prophets, 

124,  140 
Oral  tradition,  190 
Orestes,  127 
Orpheus,  126 

Orphic  Order  in  Italy,  163 
Ovid,  132 

Painted  vases,  178  f. 
Painting,  modern,  n8 


Palaestra  Vitae,  Cauer's,  100 

Paulsen's  "Introduction  to 
Philosophy,"  49 

Pediment,  174 

Peloponnesian  War,  163 

Pericles,  86,  164 

Period,  the  use  of  the,  74  f. 

Persephone,  103,  126 

Petrarch,  156 

Petroff,  Father,  201  f.,  App. 

Philosophic  writers,  Budd- 
hist, 140 ;  Greek,  141  f. ; 
Hebrew,  140 

Philosophy,  English,  148; 
Greek,  149  ;  German,  149 

Phoenician  origin,  Greek 
words  of,  59 

Phonetics,  48  f. 

Physiology,  10,  23,  36,  etc. 

Pindar,  151,  191 

Pines,  105 

Plato,  62,  82,  145,  149,  163, 
223 

Poetry,  ancient  and  modern, 
106,  129  f. 

Pogodin,  112,  App. 

Politics,  118,  162  f.,  158  f. 

Polybius,  13s 

Poplars,  103 

*•  Powers  of  Darkness,"  Tol- 
stoy's, 168 

Practical  utility  of  classical 
education,  1 15  f. 

Priam,  126 

Progress,  221  f. 

Prose,  oratorical,  etc.,  130 

Pseudo-classicism,  147 

Psychology,  23,  32,  36,  71, 

Pushkin,  82,  104,  105,  112, 
126,  App. 

Rabelais,  79 
Racine,  147 
Ranke,  136 


Index 


237 


J 


hv 


Raphael,  78 

Reform  of  grammatical  pri- 
mers, 71 

Regulus,  114 

Religion,  Greek,  123  f .  ; 
Roman,  73 

Religious  scepticism,  155  f. 

Renaissance,  18 

Repin,  68,  App. 

"Republic,"  Plato's,  163 

"  Revue  historique,"  135 

Rhyme,  131  f. 

Rhythmical  prose,  130  f. 

Ribbeck,  99 

Richter,  109 

Romantic  poetry,  131 

Roman  architecture,  170  f., 
176;  empire  and  Chris- 
tianity, 154;  historians, 
135  ;  law,  158  f.  ;  litera- 
ture, 9of.,  131;  religion, 73; 
satire,  131  ;  spirit,  58,  64 

Romanticism,  170 

Rough  labour  in  classical 
study,  189  f. 

Rousseau,  19,  78 

Rubens,  78 

*'  Ruslam  and  Ludmilla,"  1 26 

Russia,  2,  121,  123,  157,  191, 
199,  202,  204  f.,  212,  216; 
secondary  schools  in,  i, 
I3f  207,  210  f.  ;  serfdom 
in,  4 

Russian  architecture,  174  f.  ; 
culture,  116;  language, 
37f.,44,  45,  53,  57,60,62, 
68,  73,  74  f.,  79;  law, 
160  f.  ;  literature,  77,  98, 
121,  etc.  ;  spirit,  58,  121 

Sctculum  historicum,  65 
Sandys'  "History  of  Clas- 
sical Scholarship,"  116 
Sanskrit,  35,  204 
Sappho,  191 


Satire,  Roman,  131 

Scepticism,  religious,  155 

Secondary  schools,  14,  19 
46  f.,  53,  90  f.,  109  f..  Ill, 
113,  205  f.,  207,  211,  213  f.  ; 
in  Russia,  i,  13,  207, 210 f. ; 
programmes  for,  29 ;  socio- 
logical significance  of,  208, 
217  f.  ;  technical,  24  f. 

Semasiology,  32,  56  f. 

Seneca,  161 

Serfdom,  4 

Shakespeare,  no,  147 

Slavonic,  44 

Slavophils,  121 

Social  organisation,  213  f. 

Sociological    selection,    law 
I       of,  8,  16,  166,  167,  217  f. 
!   Socrates,  64,  114,  141,  153 

Solovioff,  Vladimir,  97,  123, 
148,  App. 

Sophocles,  100,  151 

Spain,  4 

Sparta,  163 

Speeches,  Thucydides',  135 

Stael,  Madame  de,  65 

Stephanus  (Etienne),  192 

Stoic  ethics,  64,  149,  154 

Stjigovski,  174 

Style,  72  f.,  98 

Syntax,  32,  66  f. 

Tacitus,  135 

Taine,  79,  148 

Technical  schools,  24  f. 

Tennyson,  105 

Tenses  in  Latin,  39 

Texts,  190 

Thesaurus  linguae  Graecae, 

Stephanus',    192  ;    linguae 

Latinae,  192 
Thetis,  86 
Thucydides,  82,  86,  134,  136, 

137  f- 
Timotheus,  191 


238 


Our  Debt  to  Antiquity 


Tolstoy,  Count  Alcksai,  167, 
168,  App. 

Tolstoy,  Count  Lyoff,  123, 
162,  167,  168,  App. 

Translations,  76,  80  f. 

Tri^lyphs  in  Doric  architec- 
ture, 174 

Truth,  in  wide  sense  of  term, 
no 

Turkey,  30 

Vases,  178 
Vasnietsoff,  78,  App. 
Vergil,  63 
Vinet,  45 
Voltaire,  19,  156 


Voluntarism,  142,  143 
Vowels  in  Latin  declensions. 

Vox  populi,  vox  Dei,  4  f. 
Vyazemski,   Prince,   57,   59, 
62,  App. 

Wagner,  132 

"Warand  Peace,"  Tolstoy's, 

168 
Weise,  38 
VVilamowitz,  21 
Willows,  96,  103 
Winkelmann,  19 
Wundt,  106,  no 

Xenophon,  82 


II 


ad  fontes,  1 1 1 
xquum,  260 
aimer,  45 
Anblick,  73 
amare,  44 
assiette,  82 
ayant,  75 

canis,  56 
capitum,  44 
coeur,  59 
Concorde,  59 
Concordia,  58 
conscientia,  60 
conspecta,  72 
cor,  59 

crescere  ex  aliquo,  199 
culpa,  160 

"cum  ad  me  veneris  ambul- 
abimus,"  38 

debere,  45 

demeure,  42 

der  Anblick  der  Mauern,  73 

devoir,  45 


die,  dierum,  43 

digitus,  42 

"  dimitte  nobis  peccata  nos- 

tra,"  65 
docere,  44 
doigt,  42 
dolorum,  44 
dolus,  160 
dominium,  160 

eh,  41,  42 

ein  Mensch,  der  nie  gelernt 

.  hat,  75 
ein     Mensch     nie      gelernt 

habender,  75 
eintracht,  59 

fideicomissum,  160 

finir,  45 

firmare,  firmus,  -a,  44 

"Gallia  est  omnis  divisa  in 
partes  tres  "  (Caesar),  86 
gewissen,  60 
grando  laedit  segetcm,  69 


Index 


239 


N 


habeat,  42 

*' habere  eripi  potest,  habu- 

isse  non  potest  "  (Seneca), 

161 
"  Hannibalem     conspecta 

moenia     ab    oppugnanda 

Neapoli  deterruerunt,"  72, 

80 
hereditas,  160 
heure,  42 
honneur,  42 
honor,  43 
hora,  43 
horto,  -orum,  43 

impotens,  64 

in  flagrante  delicto,  203 

justum,  160 

labeur,  42 

labor,  43 

I'aspect  des  murs,  73 

leb  wohl,  57 

legatum,  160 

mensa,  -arum,  43 
mihi  pecunia  deest,  69 
mora,  43 

nadsuschtchniy,  124 

nasuschtchniy,  124 

**  ne  quid  falsi  audeat,  ne 
quid  veri  non  audeat  his- 
toria"  (Cicero),  135 

"  non  fructificat  autumno 
arbor  quae  vere  non 
floruit"  (Petrarch),  156 

obligatio,  ibo     .  *. 

oppugnand?,  73 

pati,  -ens,  91 
perdona,  65 
possessio,  »6o 


potens,  64 

proscdy,  57 

I   prosti,  58 

i 

[ 

I  "Quot  caelum  stellas  tot 
habet  tua  Roma  puellas  " 
(Ovid),  132 

regere,  -um,  44 
rivus,  -alis,  62  f. 

sapere,  91 

"sapere  aude "  (Horace), 
92 

sapiens,  91 

sapor,  91 

saveur,  91 

scribere,  44 

"scribendi  recte  sapere  est 
et  principium  et  fons " 
(Horace),  90  f. 

servitus,  160 

"sine  ira  et  studio"  (Taci- 
tus), 13s 

so,  60 

socius,  -alis,  62 

soglasiy^,  58 

soviedayu,  60 

soviest,  60 

"  stabat  mater  dolorosa, 
iuxta  crucem  lacrimosa," 
132  ;  statuere,  44 

statu,  43  ;  statuere,  44. 

tracht,  59 
tragen,  59 
turri,  -ium,  43 

i»3ufpi?ct'.is,  160 
ill,  7*. 

vale,  57 

veiidere,  ^^^5 

"vox. populi.  vox  Dei,"  4  f. 


240 


Our  Debt  to  Antiquity 


III 


dtfej,  65 
d\<r€a,  107 

7(7»'(i<ricw,  65 

'*^r^'  <£/cTiJ  re  Xdxem  <a2 
dXcrea  Ilepa€(povelrjs  fiaKpai 
T  atyeipoi  Kal  iriai  CAtffl- 
Kapiroi"  (Od.  x.  510),  103 

ivraffiSf  183 

iirioijatoSf  124 

e5  irpdcrffu,  64 

tvo,  67 

X^ftj  elpo/xhrj^  82 

(N.T.),  124 

ireldofxai,  97 
TyeOyna,  120 
t6\«j,  162 
rpdaaUy  64 


<ru77i7vw(r/cw,  65 
aijyyvudiy  65 
<ru>'fi5i7<rt5,  61 

aayri,  61 
o-uy/ia,  120 

tA  rdrpia  KareS^SoKfv,  78 
T77J  ToXtop/c/aj,  73 

virepovffiaKds,  124 
uTepoiJ(rto5,  124 

* '  0tXo>f  aXoD/Liei'  /xer  eirreXe/af 
Acai  <f>i\o<To<pov/j,cv  dvei/  fiaX' 
aKlas"  (Thuc),  86 

Xa*ip'.  57 
Xdpis,  125 

Xfipwvoj  iiTro^^Afat,  151 

\f^vx-^,  120 

wXeo-f^apiroj,  103,  107  f. 
**  u>fioi    5vffapiffTOT6K€ia  '* 
(Homer),  86 


...  •,  .-    • 

9  •  4  *    « 

• « J  f  »  - 

•  •      *    • 

• . .  . 


\ 


1         « 


WILWXM   BRBNr>OM    ANi)  SON*,    L^lt*. 

■     PlCirfTEJiS,    IH.YMOUTH- 
*     .      .  .        •         . 


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